Amusia
by Cadence
Summary: Twenty years in the future, Peter's daughter struggles with her place in the Petrelli family, her father's super powers, and secrets of the past.
1. Memorial Hall

Title: Amusia  
Rating: PG-13  
Pairings/Characters: Peter/Emma, a proliferation of original characters  
Warnings: none  
Spoilers: through S4, with specific references to "How to Stop an Exploding Man", "Dual", "A Clear and Present Danger", "Cold Wars", "Exposed", "An Invisible Thread", and "Brave New World"  
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al  
Acknowledgment: BIG love and thanks to finnigan_geist for the beta, and to mimesh for a second set of eyes. And, of course, to kuwdora for the book title I stole off of her.

Summary: Twenty years in the future, Peter's daughter struggles with her place in the Petrelli family, her father's super powers, and secrets of the past.

* * *

1. Memorial Hall

"Half of our family is dead," Dad says. It feels like a mantra, but it isn't. This is the only time he's ever said it, the words a physical force that make Annette wobble in place, taking in a sharp gasp of air. Dad's words are muffled, his head tucked down close to Grandma's as they hold each other.

Today is Uncle Nathan's birthday, a man that Annette has never met. She watches her grandmother and her father, standing uncertainly on the threshold to the study, and she wonders. Every year, she feels the deep, painful significance of this day. She can see it in the drawn, tired face of her father, the softened concern that laces each touch from her mother. Her own steps become cautious, hushed, as she moves from room to room. Would she understand if she'd met Nathan?

She has not met him, and never will. Dad has a strict policy about time travel.

It's very difficult not to resent this ghost.

The memory stays with Annette, a dull ache in her chest that she doesn't know what to do with. The next year, she is doing her math homework. Limits and infinity. A thought occurs to her, and she carefully etches it out on a pristine Cartesian plane. She finishes with her tongue in the corner of her mouth, feeling giddy at how smart she is. Snatching up the paper, she runs down the stairs to the sitting room. Mom and Dad are there, relaxing comfortably into each others' arms. It's a little bit gross, but sometimes they do that, and Annette isn't about to let her parents dissuade her.

"Daddy," Annette starts, holding the paper close to her chest. Mom raises an eyebrow at her, reminding her to be polite, and Annette shakes herself. She thrusts the paper to her father, who takes it with an amused, sideways glance to Mom. She starts speaking again, remembering her manners and signing as she talks, "This is for you. I just wanted to show you..."

She stumbles, forgetting the speech she'd rehearsed while drawing it. Her tongue feels awkward and thick in her mouth, and Mom and Dad are frowning at her, trying to puzzle out her meaning while still leaning in, nodding to encourage her to go on.

"And as you see," she says, pausing in her signing to swipe a hand through the air, mimicking the shape of the graph. "It can't be that half our family is dead. Because... because, over time, it'll approach infinity."

That's not comforting at all. That's not what she meant to say.

"What approaches infinity?" Mom asks, tone a little sharp. A little reproachful.

"Um. The dead people," Annette eventually mumbles.

Dad laughs it off, pats her on the head and hugs her for being so good at her Algebra. Mom's eyes do not lose their flinty look, and Annette knows there will be a talk about this later. For now, she flees, crumpling up her stupid paper, throwing it to the floor as she flops down on her bed.

She _meant_ to be comforting. She meant to tell Dad that this is the best time, right now. The present is better than the future. She can't say anything about the past, which feels so unfair. But the future, she can tell him that is a bad place. She and Mom and David and little Maria, they won't be there. Only right now.

When Annette is older, she can only look back on this memory with anger at herself. Stupid, callous, _naive_ girl.

Memorial Hall stood due west of Central Park, walking distance from both Annette's home and Juilliard, the red brick building rising above nearby residences with staid passivity that belied its importance. Memorial Hall was, of course, only one building in the school, the public face of the creature. Behind it lay the grounds and gardens, library, dormitories, and an administration building with direct lines to all of the embassies in the city. The entire campus lay dormant and gray. Ice hanging from the eaves quivered in the blustering city wind, shaking but not yet falling. The students had returned, tracking through slush and muddied snow, but the school still looked like a dim echo to Annette.

The school itself had a more appropriate name, something sounding rich and edifying that no one ever used. Annette traced her fingers over the brass plaque bearing the words, worn shiny and smooth by years and tourists. The name itself was obscured, embossing long flattened, but the year underneath was visible. _Est. 2011_. There was a much smaller, hidden plaque inside the school. It bore a slightly older date. A more familiar name.

_For Nathan, beloved brother and son. 1967-2009_

"Taking a reading?" asked a bubbly and curious voice behind her. Annette slanted a wry look over her shoulder, instantly deflating Billie Nakamura's enthusiasm. Her pixie-like features fell into a pout. Since she'd manifested as a speedster, she'd become hyper vigilant about her friends, hoping to catch out the instant they discovered their own abilities.

Annette didn't quite have the heart to tell her she was waiting in vain.

She dropped her hand, replying, "I don't read with my hands."

"Aw, but I thought there was clairsentience in your family. I swear I read it in 'The Petrelli Dynasty' somewhere!"

Annette could strangle her – both for bringing up that damned book and having read it. Annette glance warily behind her, eyes seeking out the handful of tourists intermixed with the bustling, humming crowd of students. Fortunately, none of the tourists overheard Billie's slip up, too consumed by the narration of the walking tours they were listening to through their MP3s to notice.

Still.

"A little discretion, _Billie_," Annette hissed, taking her friend by the arm.

"Whoops! Sorry."

Annette sighed. Billie probably wouldn't ever understand. Her dad believed in secret identities. It was easy for her to sit back and enjoy the fictionalized versions of her parents' adventure – the third movie was due to come out soon, and Billie had been bugging Annette about going to the premiere – but things were different for the Petrellis. It wasn't all movies and cartoons for them. It was also cruel, thoughtless dissection by pundits, tell-all books, and more than a few paparazzi staking out their house each night.

"There you are!" Charlie called, stumbling forward through the crowd of students on clumsy feet to greet her sister. Her hair was far shorter than Billie's, stuck up in short tufts that always made her look surprised. It was the one distinguishing difference between the girls – or it had been, before Billie manifested. Now there was an additional height difference, since Billie had naturally forgone heels for sneakers, while Charlie still made the attempt on shoes that made Annette's ankles ache in sympathy.

"Dad wanted me to give you this," Charlie added reproachfully, as she thrust out Billie's notebook. Billie flushed as she took it, mumbling a thank you. Charlie just huffed, turning to walk away. Billie cast Annette a bewildered look, and she offered her friend a shrug in response.

"Hey, wait up!" Billie said, running after her sister. She had just enough sense _not_ to use her power.

Of course, Annette was perfectly aware of the issue, she could see the tense lines of anxiety hiding around Charlie's mouth, the shadows under her eyes that concealer couldn't quite cover. She was worried she was losing her sister, being left behind. Charlie wasn't a speedster – she was afraid she wasn't anything, just a Blank who'd never manifest. Annette knew that Billie would figure it out eventually and that the sisters would resolve the issue. She just wasn't entirely sure what she would say to her friend when she fielded that call, because Billie would inevitably think that Annette had gone through the same thing when her brother manifested.

Or when her sister had.

Annette's jaw clenched at the thought of Maria, breath feeling hard and cold in her chest. No, better to think about David. It wasn't like Billie would mention Maria, anyway. Even she was sensitive enough to know better.

Annoyed with herself, she wiped roughly at the tears in her eyes before checking her phone. Still too early for the main bell. Just enough time for coffee. She headed outside, straight through Memorial Hall to a back exit onto the grounds where the bulk of the student body milled around. Memorial Hall was an international school, with students matriculating from all over the globe. Most lived in the dormitories. Few were lucky enough to live nearby like Annette, or have a father who could teleport them in like the Nakamuras.

Off to the side of the dormitories, down the one clear path in the garden, there was the dining hall. Students stood on the steps, dancing from foot to foot in the chilly air, hands wrapped around steaming cups as they chattered happily with newly returned friends. Inside the dining hall, still more students drowsed over their coffee, reeling from jet lag and clustered together in the mellow light the skylights let through.

Cup in hand, Annette settled on a hardwood bench next to Noemi Guillaume. She tilted her head, ducking down to graze her nose against the table as she peered into Noemi's sleeping face. Haiti to New York wasn't the worst flight, but it appeared they had cut it too close again, leaving Noemi with no time to sleep. Better to let her rest until the bell, Annette decided.

Even at this hour, it wasn't too early for the social butterflies to be flitting about, distributing fliers as they try to kick start the new semester's social calendar. A greasy haired boy darted from table to table, drawing Annette's eye and a small smirk. He hesitated when he reached her table, gingerly setting the paper down rather than pressing it into her hands the way he had with the other students. Eyes meeting his, Annette picked the paper up – how retro – and crumpled it without looking.

The boy gulped, scurrying away. Annette's smirk deepened. She had something of a reputation at the school. She admitted to having fun with it at times.

She tossed the crumpled paper down the length of the table toward a trash bin, just as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prick up. A boy slid onto the bench behind her. She could feel the warmth of his back as if it were only a whisper away. She heard the soft rustle of paper, and then a scoff:

"Another Blank party? Doesn't that ever get old?"

Annette turned halfway, eyes lidded as she took in the boy speaking. She recognized his face – scholarship student, attending Memorial High through the generosity of the Petrelli Endowment. But he was handsome enough that she could forgive that: tall, with a white, easy smile and light brown hair that almost covered the stylus tucked over one ear. His voice was a low, comforting rumble that gave her a light shiver.

"There's always a new gimmick to try," she replied. He turned, not a bit surprised that she overheard. All part of his plan, Annette thought in amusement. "Edward, right?"

"Right." Edward smiled, meeting her gaze. His eyes were a truly pretty shade of green. His lips moved to form her name, before he faltered and looked away. There was a shy, nervous look when he lifted his eyes again, betraying the boldness of his tone. "We Blanks should stick together. Solidarity. Avoid this stupid party."

"Sounds good," Annette murmured. She hasn't ever gone to one of the parties, but David had. He'd never been a Blank while at Memorial High – he manifested around fourteen, young enough for his forms to be filled out properly, synaesthetic siren on the correct line – but the Petrelli name had far too much cache for him not to be invited. After the first, he told her how little could be expected from Blank parties. There was never a clairvoyant around, no one prophetic and no one with genetics knowledge beyond Punnett squares. There was no way for them to _actually_ predict what a Blank's power would manifest as. Just a Ouija board, a couple of bottles of Jack, and a grope or two in the closet.

If she were a true Blank, truly someone with the genes for an ability who had yet not manifested, rather than a normal kid with no genetic potential for a power, it probably would have been upsetting to find out the predictions were so worthless. Instead, Annette's cynical heart just found it funny.

"Maybe we could do something else. My cousin's wife plays viola for the New York Philharmonic. She gave me two tickets for Friday, if you're interested," Edward said in a breathless rush.

"Oh," Annette said. Despite herself, her lips twitched in disappointment. "A concert?"

"Yeah. See you at eight?"

Annette threw back her hair, giving him her aloof best.

"I'll think about it," she said dismissively.

Distantly, she heard the bell ring. Students around her grumbled as they pulled themselves up, abandoning their half drunk coffee. Nudging Noemi, Annette stood to join the stream of students heading to class. As she walked away, she could easily make out Edward's disconsolate sigh beneath the chatter of nervy students and she felt a pang of remorse.

The rumors would probably chalk Edward up as another victim of her wiles. She walked a little quicker at the thought, annoyed at her own stupid pride. A concert probably wouldn't be so terrible. No more so than the Blank party. Equally useless to her, but perhaps the company would have been more pleasant.

There was word for what Annette had: amusia. Relatively common, according to the textbooks, although not usually in the severity that she experienced. It was a neurological disorder, the inability to perceive pitch, rhythm, or musical organization. So it was not that Annette disliked music. It was that there was no such thing for her. It was all noise, bothersome, wasteful, and irritating.

And while not having a power merely made Annette normal, sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if not having music made her broken.

* * *

History, seventh period. Half of the class was enraptured – the half sexually interested in men. The other half was drooling into their notes as they slept. Dr. Suresh tended to have that effect on people. Despite his years, his body was still strong and straight, his features softened by age in a way that made him warmer than he looked in any of the old photos Annette had seen in her parents' photo albums. Even the silver gracing is hair served only to accentuate his handsomeness. But heterosexuality or no, Annette knew him a little to well to be as inspired by his lecture as some of her classmates. She dutifully nodded along, raised her hand, and drew ever expanding spirals in the margins of her notes when his attention was diverted.

He tapped lightly on her desk, pacing through the class as the lecture wound up. Right, homework time. Annette lifted her eyes to the blackboard. Dr. Suresh pressed a button near the corner of the frame, wiping the screen, before calling up a new list of requirements that settled on the board in a flurry of bright pixels.

"As you may have noticed," Dr. Suresh began, a slight smile on his lips, "You are now in the company of _seniors_. You yourself may, in fact, be a senior. As such, you face a terrible burden: the senior project."

Grumbling rose in the class.

Dr. Suresh held up a hand, forestalling their protests.

"Ah, how could I have forgotten? _But I'm a senior_, you say, _I thought I was done._ You may have applied to college, may even have been accepted already, but you are far from done. It is _January_, not June. And since all of those applications are out of the way, I fully expect that you have spare time enough to devote to your senior project for the next five months."

Even Annette groaned at the pronouncement. Stylus getting ahead of her mind, she underlined the dates in the file Dr. Suresh had transferred to the class. Other salient details caught her eye: _Fifteen minute presentation._ _Ten thousand word report._ _Photo album and family tree._

Her hand stuttered to a halt, and her jaw clenched. She glared at Dr. Suresh, tuning back in to what he was saying.

"Perhaps the most intriguing part of the Modern History of Genetic Anomalies is the part which nearly all of you play in it. All of your families are key pieces in a puzzle that has yet to be completed. We are living in a fascinating time, only glimpsing the barest edge of our own true potential.

"In this project, what I ask of you is to explore that potential. I want to see the intersections between your lives and the events that unfold around us. Where was your mother during Kirby Plaza? Where was your father when Primatech burned? Where were you during the Strauss assassination?"

_This is cruel_, Annette wrote onto her tablet. Her stylus hovered over the send key shakily.

"In sum, this is the purpose of the project: to make you look analytically at your own place in history."

He ended his declaration with a pointed look at Annette; she gripped her stylus hard, pressing the rounded tips of her fingernails deeply into her palm, overcome by anger.

The bell rang and the majority of the students cleared out. Wang Ying lingered, as she always did, asking flustered, redundant questions with a bright red flush on her face. Dr. Suresh answered easily and indulgently. Annette stared at them both, counting out deep, angry breathes as she waited.

When she eventually stood, it was in one sudden movement – clumsy enough to nearly overturn her desk. But her head was buzzing with the sound of rushing blood. She barely noticed.

Mohinder looked up, giving a pleasant smile as she walked to his desk.

"Hello, Annette. I was hoping to talk to you today, actually. It's up to both of you, of course, but I was hoping you'd ask Peter to participate in your project. It would be quite illuminating for your classmates, I think."

It was hardly the first time Mohinder had asked. Peter came to the school all the time – he was a favorite speaker for nearly all of Annette's teachers, and had been since long before she attended. He would be long after. This feeling of her own transience was tiring.

"I'm not doing the project."

"Annette..." Mohinder sighed.

Annette remembered how often he came to babysit her when she was a child. David, only a year older, would crawl all over him before settling at his side, eyes wide and avid looking between the book and Mohinder's mouth as he tried to understand. She would sit on his lap, small fingers tracing over the pictures in the storybooks, his voice soothing her to sleep.

"No," she said, voice chilly. "And you can go get fucked for assigning it."

Before Annette even got out into the hall, she could hear Dr. Suresh calling her father. She heard his voice rise and fall, tone sympathetic, driving her from the building entirely.

Outside, she jumped the short gate between the small area of green space between Memorial Hall itself and the dormitory, edging up under the eaves of the old chapel that had become the library. The garden wasn't very green at the moment, the vibrant roses reduced to gnarled branches and thorns. The meticulous lawn was well dead, buried beneath frost and slush. In spring, the grounds were lovely, filled with lazy students laughing and watching fluffy clouds scud over rooftops. Some of the more richly endowed students always gave into temptation, joining the clouds in the sky.

Annette had never done that.

Sliding her fingers into the waistband of her uniform skirt, she retrieves the cigarettes and lighter she had tucked away. The flame flared bright in the gray January light. Annette leaned back against the eroded brick, closing her eyes as she inhaled, smoke in her lungs the only thing warming her.

She smoked the cigarette down to a tiny nub of filter and resisted the temptation to pocket the butt, casting it down to the ground as litter instead. The small act of rebellion cleared her head more than the illicit cigarette. Annette blinked her eyes back open, squinting upwards to the sky scrapers visible over the peaked roofs of the school and breathed in cold, sharp air. She shivered into her uniform jacket. Her books and down coat were still in her locker.

Annette pushed away from the wall definitively. It didn't take long to retrieve her coat, and soon she was on the steps of the school, by passing Charlie, Billie, and Noemi. Edward. They all tried to catch Annette's eye, to beckon her over, but she scanned the crowd for a different face.

Stupid, she thought, shaking herself in annoyance. She didn't need to look for him. Putting her fingers in her mouth, she pierced the air with a loud whistle the way her mother taught her. Students turned to glare. A few put their hands over their ears, in anticipation of her whistling again. Only one turned with a cheerful smile on his face, eyes still following the wisps of color she had produced.

Breaking away from his friends, David jogged up steps. His short hair fluttered slightly with the movement. In looks as well as temper he took after their mother: sandy hair, snub nose, and lanky height that towered Annette without ever imposing. She was more their father, hawkish and severe in look, never mistaken for anyone but a Petrelli.

"Hey," he said and signed. He frowned abruptly, hand stirring the air between them. "I thought you quit."

Annette had never once claimed she was interested in quitting.

"No. You didn't."

David shrugged easily.

"Don't let Dad smell it on you."

"Maybe I will," Annette returned obstinately. David didn't rise to the bait, and she was forced to look away, awkwardly changing the subject. "How was school?"

David grunted something unintelligible, beginning to walk away. His version of revenge, probably, making her run to catch up with his long legs.

Annette wasn't always sure that David was adapting to Juilliard. He often came to her after a long day in class, expression haggard and shoulder slumped, leaning silently against her side as she completed her homework, content just to be in her presence. Annette didn't want to say he was fragile, because he wasn't. And it wasn't that he was unfocused either – her brother more than anyone was clear about his goals, his strengths. But he was also used to everyone else being sure. Mom and Dad had never lacked confidence in him, and his ability bore him through what would have been a difficult learning process for anyone else. Any instrument he wanted to play, he mastered nearly as soon as he touched it.

At Juilliard, they challenged him. They questioned him. They didn't understand.

It was a bit of a revelation. Irrationally, David had always seemed like the normal one of the family. He just wanted to be a musician. But it was inescapable – he was a Special first, a musical prodigy second. His place would always be with his family.

Half way through the school year, and it felt like time had gone backwards. David met up with Annette after class everyday, standing outside Memorial Hall and chatting with all of the friends he should have left behind when he went to college. Petrellis weren't very good at letting go, Annette admitted.

They walked home the way they had since they were children; Annette deftly navigated the New York crowds walking backwards, David looked over her should just in case, their eyes catching on each other's more often than was really safe as they eagerly shared their day in rapid sign and speech. Today, as they neared the townhouse, David's steps slowed. The expression in his eyes turned weary.

Annette didn't have to look to know what that meant. She was just as exhausted with reporters as he was.

"Dad did something stupid again, didn't he?" she signed, fingers moving in smaller, more subdued flicks that reflected her trepidation.

"Don't say it that way," David says aloud, glaring at her. David thought it was rude when she only signed, excluding others from their conversation, even though he was the Deaf one. David was a goddamn goody two shoes.

Annette rolled her eyes and wheeled about on her heels. She could feel her uniform skirt swish slightly in the movement, brushing against her leggings. Her lips pressed into a fine line as she surveyed the carnage – white news vans clustered around the house, partially blocking the street. The winter sun reflected off a dozen hungry camera lenses. A shout went up – "Hey, it's his kids!" – and dozens of heads turned.

"I hate reporters," Annette sighed, mostly to herself. It was inevitable, she figured. Had to pay down the debt of getting lucky earlier with Billie.

David didn't look at her, instead scanning the crowd for a way through. He nodded shortly to himself, a confirmation, and slipped his hand around hers, pulling her forward as he plunged into the crowd.

"David! David! Can you give us a statement about your father's heroics today? Annette, how does it feel to have Peter Petrelli as your father?"

It feels, Annette thought sourly, like my life.

David offered a low chuckle, close to her ear.

"Shout all you like."

Of course he found it funny. Annette trod on his heel, just for that.

Once they got inside, Annette and David both leaned heavily against the inner door, laughing, still breathlessly exhilarated from pushing through the crush, elbowing reporters in the kidneys, and escaping fame unscathed once more. Annette tilted a smile up at him and he leaned up on tip toes, peering out through the filigree outer door.

"Alexa Andrews is yelling at her camera man."

Annette shook with laughter. Andrews had done a so-called exposé on their parents' marriage six months ago, "exposing the ugly truth behind the fairy tale." Annette had gone out of her way to stumble into the cameraman. She had every hope he dropped his camera.

David turned back, smiling at her, but abruptly his expression faltered. His eyes skipped up the stairs and Annette followed his gaze, even though she knew full well she would not see the colors. She never would. Instead, she heard unpleasant strains of noise filtering down from the stairwell – what other people called music. The rapid flutter of her heart heaved to an uneasy stop before pumping with a slow thump that filled her entire head.

"Damage control," she whispered.

David's eyes were still on the lights. Eventually, he shook himself, saying, "I'm going to go help Mom."

Annette nodded jerkily, eyes wide and wet as she watched him go. Cursing herself, she clenched her jaw, roughly smudging her make up as she scraped her sleeve across her eyes. She breathed in and out, carefully listening to the hitch in her throat, willing the emotion to go away. When she was calm – when she was merely _angry_, instead of sad and confused and so upset she wanted to scream – only then did she fulfill her obligation. David went to Mom. And she went to find Dad.

As expected, he was in the study. The lights were not on. Annette lingered on the threshold, peering in toward the small space illuminated by a Tiffany desk lamp. Dad sat there, shoulders slumped, one hand curled around a glass, the other covering his face.

You should feel guilty, Annette thought spitefully.

In the months since Maria's ability manifested, a stack of books had sprung up in the family study. "Children, Families, and Chronic Disease", "Chronic Kids, Constant Hope", "Abilities as Illness." Everyone in the family had read them. They hadn't helped. What Maria had, her empathy, it wasn't truly an illness. She wasn't exactly sick.

Except, in so many ways, she was.

Every power that their father brought home upset the fragile internal balance of her young psyche. Every brush with a too strong Special risked plunging Maria into a coma, setting off a cascade of uncontrolled abilities, killing her or maybe even others.

Mom and Dad were trying so hard to avoid that, but each treatment created a different casualty in their family: pharmaceutical power suppressants sapped Maria of joy and energy; Rene's company and power depressed the powers of everyone in the household, and their emotions at the same time; isolation from Dad was incomprehensible.

They made due, day to day. Maria had tutors now, rather than going to school where she might be exposed to the pathogens others called powers. The tutors went beyond academic subjects, teaching her breathing exercises and self-regulation. She probably knew more about meditation than any other eight year old girl in the city.

Her room had been changed to one in the furthest wing of the house, as distant from the master bedroom as it could be. That was a hard decision. Too hard, some nights. Annette had gotten up for a glass of water more than once to find her mother curled in bed alongside Maria, her father pacing in agitation up and down the hall, never crossing the threshold of Maria's range despite the temptation.

The final piece was music. Mom and David started to teach Maria violin. It helped her to focus, clearing away the debris of other abilities as she learned the full extent of her synaesthetic musicality. The lessons helped enough for Maria to rejoin the family for dinner, tightly controlled periods of time in Dad's presence suddenly possible. Her smile would light up the table, words tumbling out of her mouth in enthusiastic jumbles as she forgot to eat.

But as happy as Annette was to be regaining her sister, she knew that Maria's ability was drawing a sharp line in the family. Mom and David and Maria, bonded together by their music. Dad and Annette, set apart by his ability, her lack of music. Sometimes, she wasn't even really sure she and Dad were in it together. Maybe their family was shattered, three unequal parts that could not coexist.

Annette stepped hesitantly into the darkened study. There was a hardening anger in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure she wanted to be here. She wasn't sure she wanted to comfort her dad.

She was considering turning to leave when Dad looked up, dark eyes meeting Annette's. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was so hard to look at Dad. Easier in moments like this, in a badly lit room, alone, where she could pretend it was the shadows that smoothed his featured and stole the gray from his hair. When he was with Mom, smiling in the dappled light of Central Park on their favorite path, when they were together and Annette could compare them, then she could not pretend he was aging properly. That was when she could not bear the sight of him.

"Dad," she said after a long moment, finally finding her voice. She meant the word as an acknowledgement, maybe a question. Somehow it came out as an accusation.

His mouth twisted as he looked away, leaning back in his chair to cross his arms.

"They took hostages. A bus load of children, Annette," he replied sternly. "You can't ask me to ignore that."

"I _didn't_," she snapped. It wouldn't have done any good if she had. Idly, she wondered about the effect of getting Maria to ask. Would that finally stop her dad from risking them all in such stupid ways?

Dad just shook his head, like he was too tired to explain. With a stretch and a sigh that could only be for show, he stood. Walking over to the bookcase, he tossed over his shoulder, "I heard you had something of an argument with Mohinder."

Annette stiffened defensively. She hated how easily he turned things around, how adept he was at avoiding the real problems.

"I'm not doing his class project. He found that disagreeable."

Her father hmm'd meditatively to himself, still scanning the book titles. Annoyed at herself and him, Annette finally left the far edge of the room to hit the light switch. Dad gave her an appreciative grunt, lifting a few inches from the ground to float up high enough to take several slender, finely bound notebooks from an upper shelf. He flipped through the pages of one, nodding as he confirmed what they were. Settling himself back on the ground, he waved Annette over.

Hesitantly, she went.

"What are those?"

He smiled softly, hands touching the binding lightly as he explained, "They're journals, to help you do the project."

"I'm _not_ doing the project," Annette said, although her voice betrayed her, losing certainty as her eyes were drawn to the books. They looked old.

"Just take them, Annie." Dad sighed.

Annette did, giving him her best glower.

"Are we done? Because I have homework."

"Yeah," Dad said softly. He pressed a hand to his forehead, shading his eyes, but not hiding his disappointment. "We're done."

Annette felt a twinge of conscience, and forced herself to look away. She strained her ears, trying to hear the noise from upstairs, trying to remind herself of just what her father was doing to their family. The sound strengthened her resolve, enough for her to square her shoulders and leave without looking back, feet gaining momentum as she went.

When she got to her room, Annette flung the books onto her bed angrily. More than one fell open. A few missed the bed entirely, hitting the floor on the other side. She determined that she did not care. If she was damaging history, then good. Fuck history.

It was only later, after a bad dinner that Maria couldn't come to, after a calm, unpleasant argument between her parents that was all that much worse for the fact that only half was spoken, after calling Billie Nakamura to pretend that she gave a damn about the Blank party, only then did she take a good look at the journals to discover who wrote them.

Nathan Petrelli.


	2. The Journals

2. The Journal

When David goes to Memorial Hall, he is flush with pride and confidence. He babbles endlessly at the dinner table, hands moving so quickly he almost forgets to eat as he tells everyone about the school's many wonders. As if they hadn't built it themselves. Bitterly, Annette excuses herself from the table. She goes to the rooftop to sulk, searching out the big chair Dad always sat in when she was little, letting her perch on his lap while they surveyed the glimmering city lights.

To her surprise, it is already occupied.

"Oh, Aunt Claire!" Annette exclaims, stepping back in surprise. "I didn't know you were here."

"Sorry about that. I just needed a quiet place to think." Claire smiles ruefully to herself. She beckons Annette over with the broad sweep of her mug before bringing it back to her lips, blowing across it to cool her drink. Annette stares curiously at the unconscious gesture. It's been decades since Claire felt pain, but the instinct to protect herself remains. She wonders if it will still be there in a hundred years. What else she will remember. Taking a sip, Claire adds, "Amy and I had a fight."

"Oh."

Annette doesn't know what to make of that. Aunt Claire and Aunt Amy have been together for a few years, and they've always seemed happy. She's never lost anyone from her life before. She doesn't want to now.

"What happened?" she asks in a small voice. This feels far too big and adult for her, but she wants to help if she can.

Claire just shakes her head, her short hair sweeping out from her chin as she does. She pats Annette on the hand and after a moment of consideration, eventually says, "We were at dinner and I got carded when I tried to order a beer. She didn't seem to think it was very funny."

That's it?

Annette stares, trying to think of why that would even provoke a reaction, let alone a serious fight that led to Claire sneaking into her uncle's house to recover. Very quickly, however, reasons begin to occur to her, very personal ones that prick against her eyelids and make her hands clutch tight into helpless fists.

"There are ways to fix that," she says suddenly. "Treatments. You could turn your power off, if you wanted to, Aunt Claire. You could look older."

Claire's expression turns serious, eyes stony in the bright city lights.

"No. My power is who I am. I'm not turning it off for anyone."

Her words sting, and Annette flinches away from Aunt Claire's touch. She doesn't quite know this Claire – the one who exposed the Specials to the world, the champion spearheading their political movement. Unsure what to say, she lingers just out of Claire's reach, thin arms wrapped around herself. From the corner of her eye, Annette can see Claire is remorseful for upsetting her, but she doesn't reach out again.

Eventually, they go downstairs. David is giddy at the prospect of a new audience he can inflict his stories on, but Mom and Dad quickly dismiss them both to bed. David goes with a drawn out groan, although even Annette can tell he is fading. She hesitates, casting a look over her shoulder at the adults from the shadowed safety of the staircase.

Her mother stands back slightly as Dad and Claire talk, eyes flicking back and forth between their mouths. Annette frowns. In the moment, Dad has forgotten himself. He's not signing. Dad and Claire look so young together, so perfectly matched. Annette does not like the way her mother is excluded.

Claire gives a sniffle that Annette can hear even from the stairs, and her father swoops in to give a comforting hug.

Annette watches them embrace from a distance, feeling nothing but anger at the sight. Dad promised Claire. If there was ever a treatment, ever a cure, he wouldn't take it. He wouldn't abandon her to eternity. He would remain immortal if she did. When he first told Annette, she had thought it was sweet. She hated the idea of Dad trying to live alone. It was a comfort to think he would have Claire, but she had always held out just the barest shred of hope that maybe something would change, maybe Claire would lose her power.

Maybe Dad would choose to live only for them.

But now she knows better. Claire doesn't want to change. She's going to steal Peter from Annette's family forever. Annette can think of nothing more selfish.

Edward's locker was half way down the hall from Annette's. Five minutes before the bell still left, she sighted him leaning casually against the bank of lockers, talking with Spencer Clarke and Drew Parkman. Quickly making a decision, she changed course, stepping up behind Edward to press her hand to his back.

"Grab your things," she said, smiling up at his surprised expression. "We're having that date."

Edward's eyes darted over to his friends. The boys made encouraging shooing motions with their hands. They'd probably hoot about how their buddy had scored later. Annette knew the type.

"But we have class," Edward said dumbly. Spencer covered his face with his palm. Drew went slack jawed. He grabbed Edward by the shoulder, hauling him close enough to clap a hand over his mouth.

"He'd love to," Drew said. For effect, he closed his eyes, holding a hand up to his head with fingers splayed as he pretended to be psychic. Annette raised her eyebrows at him. He wasn't fooling anyone. She would have heard from her parents if Parkman's younger son had manifested. Blithely ignoring her expression, Drew added, "Don't mind his stupid mouth. All he can think about is you."

Edward struggled in his grasp, mumbling protests into Drew's hand. Drew eventually gave in with a shrug. Fending off blows from Edward, he offered to Annette, "I tried."

"Some people can't be helped," she replied. She looked askance at Edward. "You coming or not?"

Annette walked away, listening for his footsteps. She had to suppress a smirk when she heard him jogging to catch up. From the corner of her eye, she could see his reddened face – mostly from embarrassment, she hoped. She liked boyfriends to have a little bit more stamina. He brushed haplessly at his hair, trying to casually fix where it had gone askew. Unsympathetic to his plight, she didn't slow her pace, letting him struggle to keep up with her until they hit Central Park.

Wind whistled through the bare tree branches, biting at her cheeks. It was a good thing her favorite bench was close, she thought, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Where are we going?" Edward asked. There was a slight undertone of anxiety in his voice. Oh, had he never cut class before? "This is awfully... close to school."

Annette rolled her eyes and sat down. She dug immediately for her cigarettes, enjoying how Edward's eyes went comically wide as she lit up. Cigarette in one hand, she splayed her other arm out across the top of the bench, beckoning him with two curled fingers. Gingerly, he sat.

"Don't worry," she chuckled, scooting close enough to lay her head on his shoulder. Damn, but it was cold out. "They're not going to send a search party."

"You do this a lot?"

"Often enough," Annette replied easily. "The roll is automatically input into the admin network each class and generates robocalls to the homes of anyone absent but unexcused. So, your mom and dad already know. No point in going back now."

"I wasn't –" Edward protested, but Annette cut him off with a wave, smoke trailing through the air after her hand. "I mean, I'm just concerned. I heard about the thing with Dr. Suresh. Did he give you a hard time?"

Annette stared at him, trying to process the absurdity of what he'd just asked. Mohinder. Giving _her_ a hard time. She was pissed as shit at him right now for his callously academic, emotionally blinkered assignment, but that was quite another thing from being mad at him for purposefully singling her out for harassment.

"Because I don't know if you've noticed," Edward continued, voice growing heated as he picked up steam, "but that kind of crap happens a lot at Memorial High. It's more students than teachers, but come on! They all _know_ and they all look the other way. Just because we're Blanks, that doesn't mean we don't have the right to be there!

He was right, of course. Annette had seen the teasing about abilities, the cliques that developed at school. For a boy like Edward, it was still Blanks versus everyone else, but in the community, the divides went far deeper than that, dividing elementals from psychics and both from physical enhancements. It was an added layer of high school trauma and one unlikely to abate. All her life, first among questions with strangers, Annette had heard "What's your ability?" never "What do you do for a living?"

Edward, though, would eventually join the same community shunning him now. For all the hazing and bitter high school memories, once he manifested, he would be one of _them_. Annette never would.

Sometimes she wondered why she even went to Memorial High.

"And _you_. What the hell was he thinking? You're a _Petrelli_."

"Yeah," Annette breathed out. She lay her head back along his back, staring up at the gray sky through the skeletal branches of the park trees. "I'm a Petrelli."

They stayed in the park only a short time – Edward awkwardly excused himself to go back to school before the final bell, some plan percolating in his mind to win forgiveness from his teacher, Annette was sure. She didn't mind the time alone, and sent a text ahead to David, claiming her boyfriend would be walking her home, so he didn't need to swing by. She left early herself, although more because she ran out of cigarettes than because she wanted to defuse the damage at home.

When she arrived back at the townhouse – the paparazzi thankfully decamped today – it was to a still and empty house. It was a Tuesday, which meant a long evening shift at the hospital for Mom. A note scrolled on continuous play up the computer panel set next to the door, explaining that there was an emergency meeting for the UN Council on Special Affairs, so Dad would be late to dinner tonight. If he even came, Annette snorted. His absence would probably make everything run more smoothly.

She tapped the panel once, freezing the motion, and changed the setting to give an alarm when the door next opened. David would want to read this, but he always forgot to check. She set the alarm tone in one of the higher octaves – what David would see as a sharp, piercing blue.

Dropping her bag next to the door, she headed upstairs. A strong, steady voice carried down the hall, reminding her that the house was not as empty as she supposed. She paused to listen as Maria's tutor drilled her on her multiplication tables, hand gripping the molding of her door frame. She could imagine the wholesome scene vividly, little Maria chewing her lip as she looked over her tutor's shoulder, torn between concentration and counting out the minutes remaining in the lesson. It was becoming so normal for them all.

Ignoring the undefined ache in her chest, Annette swiftly entered her room, closing the door to muffle the sound of the tutor's voice. She desperately scanned her room, looking for a distraction. The debris of her girlish childhood littered the walls and shelves: porcelain figurines and trophies intermixed with movie posters and the odd painting David had given her, trying to recreate what music was to him for the sister who would never feel it. She had a brief, terrible urge to tear them from the walls – burn away that attempt to connect with her, to keep her in the family.

Jaw clenched, her eyes landed on the stack of journals on her desk.

"Fine," she muttered. "Let's see how long this family has been fucked up."

She sat heavily on her bed, leaning over toward her desk to grab the volumes off it before settling back against the headboard. Mindful of the delicate paper, so rarely used now, Annette leafed through books, trying to put them in some kind of order. She frowned as pages fell out, along with a pair of small cassettes. Carefully, she took one of the small cassettes between her thumb and fore finger, bringing it up to her eye level to look at in dismay. She didn't even know what would _read_ those.

Annette set the cassette to the side, focusing instead on the loose pages. With relief, she realized that it wasn't the binding that had come undone. All of the pages had been torn out at one point, refolded and pressed back between the pages. One in particular caught her attention – in addition to being ripped out, it looked like it had been burned from the center out. And yet the author, Nathan, must have decided to save it after all, because most of his spindly cursive was still legible on the yellowed paper.

_November 4, 2006_, Annette read. Not long before Kirby Plaza. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening with trepidation. She'd heard the story so many times – who hadn't? – but never from Dad. Never from anyone who could tell the full truth.

_I can't condone this, this insane plan for a new world order. "Heal the world"? How could destroying New York heal anything? There's nothing worse than an idealist, a zealot. Linderman is so much more dangerous than I ever knew. Dad couldn't have known his friend was in this deep, no matter what else he did for him. For the sake of all of us, I should have k– _

The hole in the paper obscured the word, but not enough that Annette could not guess it.Of all things to burn, she thought curiously. The entry continued beneath the wide hole left by the flame long ago:

_... if it's Peter, if it happens, could he really survive it? Could he ever forgive me?_

Annette frowned, unsettled by the possible meaning. The last line sounds almost speculative, like he was mentally edging around a daring idea that he _wanted_ to consider. For a man in politics, this was a dangerous document to save, she realized. Burning it was not strange. Keeping it despite the damning evidence, both of wishing to murder a man, and entertaining the idea of destroying a city, that was the odd thing. But it wasn't like she didn't know the ending of Kirby Plaza – as if there wasn't a child today growing up without hearing that story of brotherly devotion. She could think of no reason for Nathan to keep this page other than to torture himself.

"Guess the guilt complex runs in the family," she murmured to herself.

Setting that page carefully to the side for later thought, she sorted through the books, seeking out the earliest volume. It was, surprisingly, the richest, the most pristine of the volumes. It must have been well cared for through out the years. Unlike the other journals, few of its pages had been removed. Nothing to be edited, Annette supposed.

She turned the journal over in her hands, a bemused smile touching her lips as she read the first entry, written in the large, blocky print of a child. There were many at the beginning, eschewing introducing himself for boldly complaining about being given a journal as a birthday gift. From the dates, Annette knew Nathan must have been only ten at the time. Being told it was for "posterity" must have been cold comfort to him – although amid the childish grousing, she could sense a thread of pride. Nathan was already quite aware of the plans his parents had for him and eager to meet their expectations.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she skipped ahead. She knew so little about her father's childhood beyond the sweet seeming, edged stories that he told from time to time. There was always a subtext there, skirted around and never mentioned, of more unpleasant memories he would not dwell on. Most of what she thought she knew came from inference – the things he was avowedly against in parenting, the strained, frustrated expression when Grandma Petrelli came over. It wasn't the same as _knowing_, confronting her suspicions or finally putting those fears to bed for good.

The mention of her father's birth was disappointingly brief – _Ma brought home our "Christmas gift" today. He cried all night._ – placed between two unremarkable entries about life at military school. Those continued only a page more, until Nathan himself apparently realized that complaints about exams were unique to no one. The journal fell silent on the rest of the school year, picking up with an entry about his excitement for going home. He talked about missing his friends from school and the calls he'd already snuck to his friends back in the city, his pride in his work at school despite the niggling fear his father would not think it was good enough.

With petulance befitting a boy who had spent twelve years as an only child, he mentioned his brother in an aside: _If they even have time for me, with HIM around._ But then, curiously, he started to list all of the things he wanted to do with his baby brother.

_Ma says he's not old enough to walk or talk yet, but I bet I can teach him. I can read to him from my favorite books, like_ – Here what he had initially written was scribbled out. Annette could only imagine the undignified, childish books his first choices were. – _Moby Dick, or To Kill A Mockingbird. Then when he can talk, we'll talk all day long about politics and girls and flying._

Annette smiled into her hands as she read. That was much sweeter than she'd imagined. She hadn't forgotten that Uncle Nathan was a pilot before his ability manifested, but the passage seemed like nothing less than synchronicity. Destiny.

Quick, loud tapping at her door frame drew Annette's attention, jerking her away from contemplating the charming image of Dad and his big brother she had in her mind. She looked up, meeting her mother's gaze. Her flinty look of anger hit Annette in the stomach, winding her, before she remembered why exactly her mother would be mad at her. Pressing her lips into a thin line, Annette slid from the bed, height matching her mother's as she stood.

Her mother had always been more the disciplinarian of the family. It wasn't a role she took on with relish, or even altogether naturally. No, it was yet another compromise meant to protect her Dad, Annette thought bitterly. Mom didn't want to put him in the position of punishing their kids, or possibly behaving like his father – despite all of the long, reassuring talks she had with him, telling him that, powers or no, they were nothing alike.

With Dad, when he did confront Annette or David about their misdeeds, he tended to favor looks of disappointment, long, quiet talks about why they were acting this way. It was far worse than being punished ever could be.

But in this one case, Annette really wished it was her Dad coming to punish her. _He_ was the one she wanted to yell at. _He_ was the one it would be easier to ignore out of spite.

"Noah tells me you've been cutting class," Mom signed stiffly without speaking. That alone was a bad sign.

Emma Petrelli had always been a lovely woman. Past fifty, age was settling in on her face and on her frame with a gentleness not reserved for the general public, but nonetheless noticeable in a way that make Annette cringe. Crow's feet rayed outward from her mother's eyes. Grim lines surrounded her mouth. Her figure had softened into a more motherly form than Annette remembered as a young girl, and her shoulders were not quite as strong.

The one unchanging feature was her mother's hair – well, that was not quite true. Where it was once a honey blond, it was now a more generic brown. Dyed.

With no further preamble, her mother's hands began to move. Her mouth remained fixed in a thin lipped frown as she said, "I'm so disappointed in you."

"Oh, thanks," Annette snapped back, hands unmoving as she gripped her crossed arms. If Mom wasn't going to be nice, she wasn't either. "Very supportive."

"Don't take that tone with me. You've been cutting class."

Annette nodded.

"For a while now."

"And smoking," her mother signed, fingers touching her lips and then jerking outward. Her shoulders trembled angrily as she signed. "Why do you want to die?"

"Oh God, don't be dramatic." Annette groaned. She looked away from her mother. No one else would phrase it that way, she thought petulantly. No one else saw cancer in forty years as suicide right now. Only _her_ stupid family. Clenching her teeth, Annette glared back at her mother.

"God, who cares that I'm smoking? I'm cutting class! I told Mohinder to fuck off! Punish me for _that_."

"I care," Mom said, daring her to disagree.

"Because of Dad."

Her mother shook her head slowly, frustration coloring her expression.

"No, Annie, because I love you."

"Right." Annette laughed. "Is that why you dye your hair? Because you love me?"

Her mother stiffened, hurt flashing across her face, and Annette immediately regretted her words. Dad's immortality wasn't hard only on her, she knew that. It had to be so much worse for Mom, seeing her own inevitable death coming toward her in the tiny wrinkles of her skin, the growing number of gray hairs. The idea of her daughter deliberately shortening her own life span when she wanted so much to stay longer with her husband, it probably stung her mother just as much as Dad.

It was almost enough to make Annette stop.

"You're right," Mom suddenly said aloud. "I should be punishing you. You're grounded."

Her mother turned, walking away with footfalls made heavy and loud by her anger. Annette narrowed her eyes at her back, swallowing back hard against the frustration building in her. It was such a stupid thing to be punished for. She could imagine calling Edward up, apologetically informing him that they wouldn't be having a real date on Friday – or ever. Why? "Oh, because I got snarky about my mom's hair."

A small part of herself was soberly aware of her real infraction. A small part of her felt chastened for flinging her mother's mortality in her face as a petty barb in a silly, adolescent argument. But even that fraction of awareness made her angrier.

Why was _everything_ about protecting Dad?

Crossing her arms, Annette flung herself backwards onto the bed to brood. The journals shifted with her weight, sliding into the slight depression she made in the springs. She snatched the nearest one up, ready to throw it to the ground when the final pages fell open, catching her eye. Tucked into the back, in the leather cover, were two silver discs, labeled in broad sweeps she recognized as her father's handwriting: "_Voice Entries 2006-2009; Copied 2012._"

Annette blinked at the CDs, turning them over in her hands. They were broader, bigger than the CDs she was accustomed to, and even those were rare as a recording medium these days. But unlike the cassettes, she was pretty sure the house computer could play these. Setting her feet gingerly on the floor, she walked to the inset console in her desk. She inserted the disc, almost surprised when it actually spun up. Abruptly, she frowned. She knew that her father had given the discs to her, that he had made the copies himself, but the idea of him knowing she was listening to this gave her an odd, uncomfortable quiver. She activated the privacy partition between her computer and the house computer, checking it twice before sliding on her headphones and hitting play.

Her breath caught immediately in her throat. A smooth voice filled her ears, every vowel genteelly rounded, each consonant a clear, precise snap. Dad never sounded anything like that.

The first entry was meaningless to her, something rambling and sad about Aunt Heidi. Shaking her head to herself, she touched a finger to the desk screen, flicking through the files. None had explanatory titles or excerpts from the text. Dad was a lazy transcriber, it seemed. One date, however, tickled at her memory. She furrowed her brow, mouthing the words as she tried to remember the significance of March 2007. It wasn't something from school, she knew that. She always remembered the pages of their textbooks so vividly that recall was more like rereading than normal remembrance. No, it was familiar from somewhere else, something within the family.

Probably something I wasn't supposed to hear, Annette thought grimly. She double tapped the file and again the disc spun.

"_I meant what I said earlier_," Nathan began. His voice sounded ragged, thin, all of the slick politics of his voice ground down and pitted by emotion. Annette slid her fingertip along the volume control, raising it to the maximum, and still she had to concentrate to hear him. "_Everything has gone so wrong – Dad, the formula, even before that with all of our powers. I thought I'd found a solution. I __**had**__. Then Peter ruined it._"

Hands moving furiously quickly over the computer console, searching the date on the internet. She'd never heard Dad _ruining_ anything. The search came back empty, no matter the terms she entered.

"_... ever since Peter – the other Peter – shot me, nothing has made sense. The world has come unraveled_," Nathan continued. "_I died._"

Annette looked up from the computer in shock, hands going to her headphones as she listened.

"_He killed me and then he killed Dad and I don't even know why. If it was principle_," he said, laughing with abrupt roughness that hurt her ears, "_then maybe I could understand. Peter destroyed the formula and he killed Dad over it. Then he used the formula, restored those abilities he said he didn't need, to save me._

"_That doesn't work_," Nathan said, voice growing frustrated. "_It doesn't make sense._"

No, it didn't. None of it made sense. Dad _killed_ Grandpa? That wasn't possible. Grandpa died long before Dad even manifested his powers. Suicide. Everyone knew that.

Thoughts pinged around Annette's mind, uselessly disconnected memories, as she tried to recall anything she knew about her grandfather. And then she knew – she knew why March was an important month. Every year, another quiet memorial, quite different from the one held for Nathan. After, Grandma always sent a small token to Dad. A gift of her gratitude, she once explained.

For killing Grandpa? Annette felt sick at the idea.

"_Why would he save me? Why would he want his powers back?_" Nathan laughed roughly. "_We all know where that leads. Me, saving his ass, __**again**_.

"_I meant what I said_," he repeated. "_Everyone always roots for Peter, and in the end, he always disappoints them._"

Eyes wide, Annette stared out her bedroom window. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears, almost overwhelming the sound of Nathan's voice as the disc spun to a new entry. She tore them from her head, pushing them away from her.

No one had ever talked that way about Dad. The pundits, the critics, the actors playing him in goddamn movies – they didn't _know_ him, they didn't _understand_. As hurtful as their accusations and their character interpretation was, Annette had always endured it secure in the knowledge that they didn't know what the hell they were talking about.

But Nathan did. Maybe better than Annette herself ever would. His words were a revelation to her. Dad was a disappointment.

Annette couldn't agree more.


	3. Building 26

3. Building 26

Annette is two days shy of ten when her mother, with a serious look in her eye, takes her and David aside. Dad comes too, and in contrast to Mom's quiet trepidation, he keeps breaking out in a grin. Annette shares a bewildered look with her brother, settling next to him on the big, cushy couch in the den.

"You are going to have a little brother or sister," Mom explains, touching her hand to her stomach.

Annette leans in closely, scrutinizing her mother for any change in her appearance, but there is none. It's too early, David explains later, with the air of an expert. It would be _months_ before anything was visible. Annette frowns at him, asking how he knows and punching him in the arm when he claims it's because he's older.

"By a year!" she exclaims. "You don't remember me being born!"

He waggles his eyebrows at her, as if there's a mystery there.

"Or do I?" he signs. She chases him outside where they play tag all afternoon, giddy and exhausted by evening.

Mom and Dad promise not to tell anyone else about the baby coming until after Annette's birthday. They don't want to overshadow it. Annette, very maturely, tells them it would be okay if they told people, but she's secretly glad that they won't.

The entire family and more turn out for the party. It's hard for Annette to choose which dazzling family member to hang on, and she spends most of the party dashing between Aunt Claire's side and Uncle Hiro's, with some time in between reserved for cousins Monty and Simon, who are nearly old enough to be adults, but cool enough to not to be. In the end, she devotes her time to following Claire and assigns David to play with the other kids in her stead. He rolls his eyes, asking when she got to be the older sibling, but goes along with the plan gamely when she promises to tell him everything she hears.

It is then, tagging along behind Aunt Claire and Aunt Amy, that Annette realizes perhaps she and David weren't the first to hear about the new baby after all.

Claire stiffens, eyes narrowing as she looks across the light and streamer festooned garden. Annette follows her gaze and then casts a confused look up at her aunt. The words are on her lips asking what's so upsetting – it's just Dad and Grandma talking – when Claire drops her punch on the table, walking away from Amy and Annette without explanation.

"Never mind me," Amy grumbles, leveling a glare at Claire's back. "I'm just the girlfriend."

Annette ignores her, walking as quickly as she can behind Claire, although not quite quickly enough to catch up. She has the good sense to realize that she's probably not supposed to be there. She is, however, at a loss for how to stick close enough to hear the adults without giving away that she is listening, so it is a very good thing that they are all too angry to notice that she is even there.

"Angela, stop," Claire says harshly. She always calls her by name instead of Grandma. Annette hadn't really paid much attention when that was explained – something about adoption and fire and the reason Claire was so much older than Simon and Monty – but it feels pretty significant right now. Dad turns slightly to acknowledge her presence, but Grandma does not, eyes remaining fixed on Dad.

"This isn't your concern, Claire," Grandma replies dismissively.

"And it's not _yours_, either," Dad says.

"Peter," Grandma says. She raises a hand up to cup Dad's jaw, stepping closer. Dad flinches only slightly, but it is enough to make Annette flinch in sympathy. There's a way Grandma acts around Dad, touching him with her hands and cutting with her words, that Annette hates. She can't imagine how upset she'd be if Dad did that to her. "I care about you. I'm concerned. Emma is of an age where I really do not think pregnancy is advisable. I worry about what this will do to you, Peter. I know what it is to have a child die."

Dad freezes, bowing his head. It looks like he is leaning into Grandma's touch. Annette's heart beats hard with horror at the thought. She is ready to run over and kick Grandma for hurting her Dad, for saying the new baby will die, when Claire intercedes. She wrenches Grandma's arm down, pulling her away from Dad with little regard to her age.

"How dare you?" Claire hisses, marching away from where Dad stands, looking forlorn. Annette rushes to his side, tugging on his hand until he notices her.

"Are you alright, Annie?" he asks. It's such a stupid question that she almost hits him.

Instead, she reaches up, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

"Everything is going to be okay, Daddy," she says fiercely. "Mom and the baby are going to be okay."

Annette watched as Billie dragged a french fry through ketchup, popping it into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully before replying, "Dad said he didn't want to talk about Arthur Petrelli, but not that he didn't know anything."

"Which, theoretically, he shouldn't," Annette pressed. The girls were gathered around one of the broad oak tables in the Memorial Hall dining hall. The lunch crowd bustled around them. Edward had tried to catch Annette's eye when she entered, but she shook him off, instead heading for her usual table. Every now and again, she could hear a loud chorus of laughter rise from his table. It made her twitch.

Of course, everything made her twitch today. Catching Noemi's once more narrowed eyes, Annette snatched her hands from where they were tapping restlessly on the table, folding them in her lap.

Billie and Charlie shared a look.

"Well," Charlie said with a shrug. "Not necessarily. Time travel, you know."

"But he looked really disturbed," Billie said, continuing her previous line of thought. "He told me not to ask Mom. That all I needed to know was that he was a very, very bad man."

Annette frowned, disturbed. There were so many small pieces of family history she'd always overlooked that now seemed so ominous: the Company, Linderman, even Grandpa's law practice. All those hesitations when Dad would talk about Grandpa, the unhappy look in his eyes. Now, the picture of what all of that meant was coming together, and Annette's heart clenched with a cold dread as she contemplated just how guilty everyone was, Dad included.

She turned to Noemi beside her. The other girl shook her head.

"My father is not the most forthcoming man in the world. He would only say that we 'should not sit in judgment of Peter Petrelli because he saved us from a great evil', and that '_you_' will never understand the personal cost of it." Noemi laughed a little, sounding rather annoyed with the answer and Annette for asking her to pursue it. "'You', not him. I think he's hiding his own secret."

"Looks like Doctor Suresh is getting you to both do his assignment." Charlie laughed. Noemi glared at her.

"And the formula?" Annette asked. All three shook their heads.

"Even more silence," Noemi said. She leaned forward, propping her chin on a fist as she thought. "One thing I don't understand is your uncle talking about your dad coming from the future to shoot him and him _dying_. That's crazy!"

It was. Annette had studied the attempted assassination of Congressman-elect Petrelli before in class. While there was talk of his mysterious survival and speculation of who could have shot him, including accusations that it was engineered by Petrelli himself to catapult himself into a Senate seat via his convenient religious conversion, the text was inconclusive. No one really knew what happened. Nathan thinking that it was a future version of Dad was enough to make Annette doubt his sanity, just a little.

The shooting was hardly the crux of the matter, though. It was the formula, the night of Grandpa's second death. There just wasn't enough information to know what had happened, but Annette _knew_ it was important. She needed another source, a more reliable one than Nathan, a less biased one than Dad.

Billie cocked her head. She asked, "How is that crazy? Our dad time travels all the time."

"And Mom died that one time," Charlie added. "But she got better."

"But if Peter Petrelli came back to shoot Nathan Petrelli, then he'd cause a paradox! He'd stop existing and the _new_ Peter in the future wouldn't have reason to go back to the past, so he wouldn't and the shooting wouldn't happen, so he _would_ have a reason to go back … it would be an endless loop!" Noemi argued.

"Pfft, no," Billie said, rolling her eyes. "That's not how it works! Don't you read any comics at all?"

Annette sat back, ignoring them as they squabbled. Charlie was right. Despite herself, she was doing Mohinder's damn project. It was about time he helped out.

She found him in the office attached to his class room, leaning back in his chair as he graded student assignments on his tablet, cartons of cold take away set to the side. Tapping lightly at his door frame, Annette hovered on the threshold, heart skipping a beat when he looked up. A broad smile spread across his face, showing a gleam of white teeth.

"Annette! This is a welcome surprise. Although, if you were so anxious to come to class, you could have come yesterday," Mohinder said, wry tint his voice softening the rebuke.

Annette dipped her head apologetically.

"Sorry about that," she lied. "I had some things to work through about the project."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she said firmly, fixing him with a look. "You were right. It's important for my generation to understand our place in history. I'm going to do the project."

"That's wonderful! Have you spoken with Peter yet about speaking to the class?"

"Not precisely. He helped get me started, though." Annette licked her lips, studying Mohinder's face carefully before continuing. "I've been reading my uncle's diaries."

His expression shut down almost entirely, but for a rueful quirk of his lips.

"I suppose I should have expected that. Your father does still hold him in unique esteem," he said, more to himself than to her. Eyes solemn and clear, he looked back up at her, quick mind already having deduced her purpose. "What of Nathan's writings brought you to me?"

Annette took a deep breath.

"I need you to tell me about Arthur Petrelli."

There was a flicker of strong emotion behind his dark eyes: guilt. Annette wanted to scream. Was there anyone in her life that hadn't lied to her? But Mohinder's words came brisk and honest:

"Arthur Petrelli did not die as we initially were told. I wasn't there and do not know why he disappeared, or if he faked his own death. I was only there when he reappeared, consumed by a desire to propagate falsely created abilities throughout the world."

"With the formula?" Annette asked, heart beating loud in her chest.

"Yes," Mohinder said, clipping the word short in bitterness. Annette narrowed her eyes at him, reappraising. Yes, there was guilt, but it wasn't to do with Grandpa – not his death, at least. It was this. The formula.

"What was it?" she breathed. "Did it work? What happened to it?"

"It was complex. And yes, it did work. Sometimes at terrible cost. Although I resisted, your father destroyed it. I am quite grateful for that, now." Mohinder passed a hand over his face, sighing deeply as he looked away. "Forgive me, but it is not a time in my life I enjoy reminiscing about. Was there something else?"

Annette felt a pang of sympathy, watching the unease line his face, the shallower, more difficult breaths he took. Suddenly, his age became an obvious burden on him and she felt like a cruel girl badgering an old man about long buried sins.

Still, though, she needed one more answer.

"Did Dad kill Grandpa?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Peter says that he did, but there are other sources that... contradict." _Who?_Annette wanted to beg, but she knew she'd pressed as far as she could. "If he did, then he did us all a favor, saving some of us in more than just body."

Annette meandered through her afternoon classes, too consumed by her thoughts to pay her exasperated teachers any attention. Her father was a killer, albeit one that everyone she talked to absolved. She couldn't deny that she wanted to absolve him too, nor that a dark, ugly part of her was far more upset with him at the loss of the formula than the loss of her grandfather. She'd never known Arthur Petrelli, beyond the whispers of his temper and his crimes. Abilities were a different matter entirely.

She'd always told herself she was okay being the normal one in the family. She liked the security of it, in some ways. A Blank never knew when her world would be turned upside down. For years she'd heard stories about accidents and disasters caused by a Special manifesting. Even the calmest, happiest Special could kill when his or her power manifested. It was just bad luck. Fate. She'd listened to those stories with wide and fearful eyes as a child, so relieved when it was her turn to test for an ability and the pad she pressed her finger to came back blue. She simply didn't have the right genetics. The knowledge had long been a comfort.

But it was also a knowledge that she would never truly fit into her own family. Even among family friends, there were few people without abilities. Without a power, she was nonetheless a part of the Special community, through her family, her friends, her schooling. Leaving the Special world behind would mean divorcing herself from her entire life. She could hardly give it up. But at the same time, she would never truly relate to her own family.

Sometimes she almost wished that Mom and Dad had sent her to a normal high school, kept her at Sacred Heart even, despite the danger of revealing her non-powered status. What were a few kidnapping attempts versus an entire life lived as a lie?

For the first time, Annette eagerly awaited Mohinder's class seventh hour. She had so many more questions to ask him – _Could you choose the power? What did you mean it worked 'at great cost'? Why did Dad destroy it? Can you replicate it?_ – but they died on her lips as she saw him drag himself to the front of the class, shoulders slumped and expression haggard.

Declaring up front that he was not feeling himself, Dr. Suresh set them to silently read an article about Tracy's Strauss's political positions, speculated criminal history, and the Religious Right's long opposition to her. They were to summarize the contents and discuss its relevance to Strauss's eventual assassination on inauguration day. Annette completed the assignment quickly, looking up to daydream through the remaining half hour of class. It was only toward the end, seeing Mohinder grimace and shift in his seat as he reviewed the submitted assignments that she remembered he had known Strauss. As much as her own father, he'd been present for all of the events their class was about.

If the senior project was cruel to her, it was hardly kind to him.

She frowned, reopening her submitted report to add onto the end: "_Why do you do this to yourself?_"

Quickly – much, much more quickly than Mohinder typically replied to anything – he sent back: "_You already know. And I cannot be allowed to forget._"

At the bell, he walked quietly to his office and shut the door, definitively halting any further questions Annette might have had, even if she had the heart to dog him further. Gathering up her school supplies, she bypassed Billie and Noemi where they chatted at the lockers, feet carrying her out to the steps before Memorial Hall. There was so much she needed to talk through, and only one person to do it with. She soon spied him coming up the sidewalk, behind the students and tourists, and dashed over to greet him.

David raised his eyebrows and signed, "Aren't we enthusiastic today?"

Annette ignored his question, grabbing both of his hands to drag him toward home as she walked backwards.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

"I can tell," David said aloud. He looked pointedly toward his hands. With a blush, Annette released them.

"You didn't do your senior project for Mohinder, right?" she asked.

"No, it was Mrs. Jacquez's rotation last year for the projects. We did Cliffs Notes for a novel for her."

"So you didn't," Annette bit her lip, voice going quiet and hands moving in tighter, smaller motions as she grew unsure. "You didn't ever read Uncle Nathan's diaries, right?"

He would have told her. David shook his head silently, and Annette relaxed marginally, falling back into the bubbling excitement that discovery had created inside her.

"You _need_ to," she stressed, hands looping wildly enough to force David to duck. "No, David, I mean it. I thought I knew Dad, that I knew our family but... everything was so different. Grandpa didn't kill himself, and Dad and Uncle Nathan were fighting, and there was a _formula_ to give people abilities."

The amusement faded abruptly from David's eyes, replaced by solemn concern.

"_Ah_."

As if it was just that simple. Annette glared at him.

"'Ah' what?" she asked. She let the 'jerk' remain unspoken.

"You know. You're mad that Dad prevented you from having an ability." Annette pressed her lips together, firmly refusing to answer. She didn't need to. "So what would you want?"

She'd rarely let herself entertain the thought. For all the whimsical pros Billie or Charlie could throw at her, daydreaming about the powers they would someday have, she could counter with a con. Speedsters paid their rent in grocery costs due to their high metabolisms. Time travelers aged prematurely because they played too much in the past. The super strong didn't have super strong _bones_, and when they weren't overextending their powers, they were taking unreasonable risks. They tended to die young and horribly. Telepaths went insane.

And empaths, well. She hardly needed to expound on their problems.

"Your power," Annette said. She had never heard music _as_ music. She imagined it was lovely. "Yours and Mom's."

David laughed in a quick, soundless chuff.

"Don't lie, Annie."

Stung, she flinched.

"You'd ask for Aunt Claire's," David continued knowingly. Annette very much wanted to hit him. "You're going to have to get over that, someday."

"Thanks for the condescension. Any more words of advice?" she sneered.

"Yes, actually," David said. He met her eyes, stopping in place and reaching out to put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't dig too deep. You're not going to like what you find."

_You think I like thinking Dad's a killer?_ she almost asked, but she cut herself off. She didn't think she wanted to hear what he thought just now. It was too likely his answer would be '_yes_'. And there was something else there, a sympathetic light in his eyes that was not theory alone.

"Why?" she breathed. "What did you find out?"

David grimaced, casting his gaze up to the sky for a moment. He sighed to himself before replying, "You know Kirby Plaza? It wasn't just Linderman who was involved."

Annette's eyes went wide.

"Grandpa?"

That would certainly make Dad killing him very, very understandable.

"And Grandma. And maybe Uncle Nathan." David shook Annette when she tried to open her mouth, tried to deny it. That didn't match with the story of brotherly sacrifice. It didn't match with the diary. Except, it did. That one burned page. "Look at me! Just, don't get too tangled in the past. It'll just get you hurt. And don't judge too harshly."

Annette did not take his advice. She spent the rest of the week immersed in Nathan's journals. At home, in class, even once at the dinner table, she read and listened to every entry she had time for. She soon learned that the voice recordings were far more reliable accounts of Nathan's feelings than the written entries – he was too apt to edit them, rewriting the first draft of history to suit his ever changing opinions. That proved to be a sincere irritation to Annette. If there was anything she disliked about Nathan, it was his need to smooth over the flaws in his image, to always come out the other side looking as though the right decision had been an easy one.

He couldn't bear the thought of people knowing how very wrong he'd been at times.

The turn of Friday afternoon to Friday night found Annette still grounded, primping in the bathroom as if she were not. Nathan's voice echoed in the bathroom, playing again some of the earliest voice entries he'd made, from 2006. It was one of the most interesting times in his journal, when his power manifested and everything changed.

She'd never known it came earlier than the eclipse, although despite the movie of the same name, she'd always figured there had to be more to it. Dad had dreams for months about flying before he tried it, so it couldn't be that his power, his life, was controlled by astronomical factors.

Annette listened in sympathy as Nathan described Aunt Heidi's arduous rehabilitation following the accident his ability caused, leaning in close to her reflection, one hand gripping the marble counter near the sink as she applied liner to her eyes. She had already curled her hair, letting it fall softly over her shoulders. Lip gloss was next, just enough shine to draw the eye. She stood back a little, looking carefully over her appearance for any flaws. It was a bit of a trick, making herself over without _looking_ like she was. Didn't want Mom and Dad to think anything would be happening while they were out beyond studying and remorsefully contemplating why she was being punished.

Satisfied, she leaned back from the mirror, scanning over her appearance for any obvious give aways. Nothing but...

Avoiding her own eyes, she pressed a thumb to a projected button on the surface of the mirror, calling up the house photo albums. She cycled quickly through the pictures, heart in her throat as she homed in on the ones tagged "Nathan." One under the "wedding" grouping looked promising and she tapped again, enlarging it to take up half of the mirror space. It was a photo of Dad and Uncle Nathan both, smiling happily into the camera at Nathan's wedding. Dad looked much the same as he did now; Annette pushed the thought away instinctively before it pierced her, focusing instead on Nathan's appearance.

The journal file switched over, playing a new time and date.

"_Peter doesn't understand_," Nathan's vice began, repeating a common refrain. I know how you feel, Annette thought. "_I needed to be with that woman in Vegas. I just needed to feel something other than guilt. This … __**ability**_," his voice dripped with disgust, with self-reproach, enough to distract Annette from the apparent admission of adultery, "_has already cost me so much. Peter is caught up in this ridiculous mission of his. He needs to realize how dangerous this is._"

Nathan sighed. Annette could easily imagine him passing a hand over his face, trying to rub away the weariness.

"_I'll call Linderman tonight. See if I can get Peter's painting. Maybe that will end this._"

"Wishful thinking," Annette said, closing her eyes briefly before reopening them. She tilted her head, looking to his face in the picture and then to her own. She considered their similarities. They had the same eyes, the same hair, the same proud stance. But where her face was narrow and sharp, his was squared off. Where his shoulders were broad, where his body was stout and well built, she was slender and gawky.

No, Annette thought with chagrin. Whatever personality, whatever beliefs she had in common with Nathan, she was still her father's daughter.

Hesitating just a moment, Annette tapped again at the button, going backward through the organization tree, just to the "wedding" tag. There were dozens of files, most from her parents' wedding, although a few came from Grandma's disastrous, very brief marriage to Uncle Noah. She brought up one of her favorites – her father, arms looped around Mom, ducking his head down close to hers as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Both wore looks of deep contentment. To the side stood Aunt Claire, still dressed as best man, and Grandma. It was the only time Grandma had ever really looked approvingly at Mom.

Even then, it was visible that Mom was older than Dad.

Scowling, Annette smacked her hand against the mirror, closing all files. Edward would be here soon.

Very soon, she realized, glancing at the clock glowing on the mirror. She wondered if she should call Billie off. Might be best to delay, rather than cutting it so fine. Annette tapped her fingers on the counter, trying to decide. Meeting her eyes in the mirror one last time, she decided she hadn't dolled up discreetly for no reason. She might as well put her sneakiness to the test and scout the situation downstairs.

Easing carefully down the back stairs, Annette padded on light feet from the kitchen to the den. She pushed the door open fractionally with a fingertip, and then all the way with her palm. She let out a sigh of relief, happy to see only David standing in the room – outfitted in a suit and shrugging into his heavy, outer coat. He surveyed her own outfit, eyebrows lifted ironically.

"Big night planned?" David asked.

Annette restrained the urge to stamp her foot in childish annoyance. Maybe her make over _wasn't_ that discreet after all. Instead, she ignored his barb, making a show of looking up and down his appearance. He was pressed and coiffed, hands folded together in front of him. Which, Annette thought with a smirk, meant he was terrified. He never did that unless he was so nervous signing would give him away.

"I'm pretty sure yours is bigger," she said. "First concert and all. I wish I..."

"Don't," David said, cutting her off. "You don't wish you could come. This really wasn't much of a punishment for you, was it?"

"No," Annette said softly. She had the sense that Dad had taken her side with Mom, arguing down her sentence. Being grounded from a concert that honestly would have been torture for her to begin with, that wasn't any proper kind of punishment. And taking advantage of that to have a boy over, well, it was less than contrite behavior. David was right to be skeptical of her platitudes. She bit her lip, considering her words. Before she could get them out, David sighed, turning to leave.

"No!" she said, heart aching at his disappointment. In _her_."That's not what I was going to say."

"Oh?" he asked. David leaned back against the door, arms crossed over his chest.

"I was going to say I wish I could hear you play."

David swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. He unfolded his arms, hands moving steadily as he signed back, "I wish I could play for you."

Smiling wistfully at his back, Annette watched him open the door, walking through to join Mom, Dad, and Maria in the foyer. Mom and Dad were facing away from the door, deep in conversation. Only Maria saw him, small, round face lighting up excitedly at his approach. She was dressed up in a navy blue dress that flared out around her when she twirled for David, curtsying in appreciation of his approval.

Maria was going too, Annette realized belatedly. She was well enough to leave the house. Somehow things had gotten better – remarkably, amazingly better – and she'd missed it.

Her family whisked itself out the door, already moderately late given that David was performing, and Annette was left feeling altogether discomfited with herself. They weren't leaving her out. She'd left herself out.

And then, in a flash of black hair and the pink pixie boots Billie was favoring lately, Edward was delivered to her feet.

Annette extended a hand, helping him to stand on unsteady feet. His hand was cold in hers, chilled from even that brief trip outside. Annette resisted the urge to put both her hands around his, warming him up. His hair was windblown, eyes wide and with the shock of super speed. His tie, which Annette could tell had been neatly and carefully tied from years helping David, had come loose and it flopped uselessly over his shoulder.

Despite herself, Annette felt a smile crinkle her eyes. She withdrew her hand from Edward's, snatching it back to smother an altogether girlish giggle bubbling up in her.

"Hi," Edward exhaled.

Annette bit her lip, dropping her hand from her mouth to grin at him.

"Hi."

"So, uh," Edward stuffed his hands into his pockets, craning his neck to take in the foyer as he attempted to gain his bearings. He looked entirely overwhelmed, stepping back as if trying to get avoid from the enormity of the house. Gulping down his anxiety, he focused on Annette. "Billie wanted me to ask if you're sure about the party. Um, about not going."

Despite Charlie's wheedling, Annette still was not interested in going. She'd actually just managed to convince Charlie that could survive the party with only Noemi as back up, when Charlie managed to get herself grounded. It seemed that she had taken the initiative to investigate further into the past by raiding her father's collection of first printing Ninth Wonders comics. And then spilling Coke on one. Of course, upon finding out, Uncle Hiro had time traveled to prevent it from ever happening. Annette was a little fuzzy on the details of why precisely Charlie was being punished for something that technically had not happened, but that wasn't really an unfamiliar feeling when dealing with Nakamuras. In any case, the clear solution had been to send Billie to the Blank party in Charlie's place, never mind the fact that she'd already manifested and was not, in fact, a Blank.

And from there, the wheedling began anew.

"I'm sure," Annette assured him. She had much bigger plans.

Billie had been nice enough to coordinate Edward's illicit arrival and eventual departure, though, so Annette took a quick moment to send off a message asking for all dirt after it was over. When she looked up, she found that Edward had strayed from the base of the staircase to examine the collection of photographs arrayed on the wall – some digital, glowing on inset wall panels, and some old, carefully hung prints.

"So this is him? Peter Petrelli?" Edward asked, eyes keen with admiration Annette had seen time and again. His fingers did not quite touch the panel, hovering just a hair away as if afraid of damaging the picture. "Is he here?"

"Nope," Annette said. She fought down her annoyance at Edward's disappointed look, reaching up to tangle her fingers with his. He turned slightly to look at her questioningly. Leaning up on her toes, Annette brushed her lips against the corner of his mouth. She whispered, "And that's a good thing."

"Uh huh," Edward replied, voice gone high and flustered.

Annette tugged on his hand before dropping it, going quickly up the stairs. She cocked her head at him, smiling at where he stood unsurely.

"Come on. I have something I want to show you." Edward showed no signs of moving. She rolled her eyes at him. "_Upstairs_."

If not for the loud thump of her pulse her ears, the sweaty palms she pressed into her jeans pockets in an attempt to look casual, Annette might have smirked at Edward's stumbling steps behind her. Poor boy didn't know whether to be excited or terrified. _Poor boy?_ she asked herself snidely. _Like you're different_. She wasn't particularly. Her trepidation was better rooted in part – Edward would be the first she'd shared Nathan's diaries with – but not in its entirety. There was simply something thrilling and awkward and scary about bringing a boy up to her room.

She hadn't been alone with a boy in here room since Kaito Masahashi. He'd had the most abominable pigtail pulling habit.

All the better to hide her own nerves, Annette kept pace ahead of Edward, listening for his steps behind her. The hallway felt eerily quiet without the sound of Maria's lessons, David's practice, the ever present stream of twenty four hour news her father pretended not to keep an eye on. There was only her breathing, quicker than she wished it would be, and Edward's cautious footfalls.

Annette opened her door directly, striding to the bed and the journals laying upon it with confidence she didn't feel. The sight of the books, one open from morning reading and another bookmarked with a playing card, was an immediate comfort. Right, she thought, exhaling a long breath. This was a tease. Just a little game. That real plan was more than a little frightening, in it's own way, but it was even more exciting. She dropped onto the bed, drawing her legs up underneath her as she picked up the journal she had been reading. Her fingers traced the topmost line of writing – _"I already picked the ring. I know Heidi will be please with the choice. I just hope Mom is..."_ – before a shadow obscured the text.

She looked up in startlement. Edward smiled.

"Good book?" he asked.

"Yeah," she breathed out, cursing her own distraction. She hadn't expected him to get his bearings so quickly. Shouldn't he be worriedly standing outside her door, wondering what the hell he'd gotten himself into with her? "It's what I wanted to show you, actually."

"Good!" He laughed breathlessly, and the tension of the moment before swept Annette into a happy, nervous gust of laughter along with him. Calming somewhat, Edward scratched at the back his neck. "You're really something, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," she returned. Straightening her shoulders, she patted the bed next to her. Gamely, Edward sat, far enough away to be comfortable, but not prudish. Annette just shook her head at him, suppressing a smile. He really was growing on her.

Turning from her, Edward finally cast his attention on her room. She watched silently as he looked at yet more family portraits, set on a shelf next to girlish trinkets and trophies which he seemed to pay little mind. His eyes skipped over David's painting, not knowing its significance. For a moment, Annette wanted to seize him by the head, make him look. Make him understand. She willed it to pass. There was plenty of time for that.

His eyes settled on a wall hanging of calligraphy.

"Chinese?" he asked.

"Japanese," she corrected. "Charlie had a phase a few years ago. It's a translation of a comic book quote. Don't ask. I just thought it was pretty."

Edward nodded, silently bobbing his head. He pressed his lips together, appearing to think, before giving her a sideways glance.

"You know, it's okay if you tell me." His green eyes were bright and clear with sincerity. "You don't have to pretend to be so tough all the time."

Annette's jaw flexed, lips thinning. She forced herself to look away, out her window to the garden below. Snow was beginning to fall. It would undoubtedly be a gray slush by morning.

"Or not! I'm sorry," Edward said. He touched her cautiously on the arm, but she shrugged him off. "What the hell do I know?"

"More than you think," she said softly, almost hoping he wouldn't hear. Squaring up, she turned back to him, lifting her chin stubbornly. "It's 'with great power comes great responsibility.' Stupid, I know."

"Sounds like a good motto for your family," Edward offered. "At least, your dad seems to follow it."

Annette rolled her eyes.

"'Seems to' is right."

Edward cocked his head quizzically. Annette breathed out, taking a moment to regroup and order her thoughts. The cool, dry leather of the journal in her hands helped her to focus. She ran her hands over the cover multiple times before she spoke.

"I don't know if you've started Doctor Suresh's project," she began. "But I did. Despite everything, it's a good idea. Learning more about the past. Our place in it."

His brow furrowed as he listened. He shook his head slightly, indicating he wasn't quite sure where she was going. Annette bit her lip, taking the plunge.

"All the lies." Annette scooted across the bed, thrusting the journal toward Edward. He looked down at it in confusion. "Edward, you have no idea. Everything I've been reading... our parents, our classes. Everything they've told us is a lie!"

Edward stared at the book in his hands, turning it over. It was only when he opened it to see Nathan's name that the light of realization entered his eyes. His head snapped up, eyes frantically meeting hers.

"You know, too?" he asked. Annette's breath caught in her throat. She'd never – she hadn't had any real idea of what to expect. Anger, wonder, or fear, it could have been any of them. But commiseration? She'd never expected him to know, for him to understand before she spoke.

She nodded jerkily.

"I did, you know, start his project," Edward said, words picking up speed as he went. "I talked to my parents. I never thought it'd be anything special, anything unusual. We aren't _anyone_. They weren't at Kirby or at Central Park. I didn't know there was so much that the textbooks just _forgot_.

"Like Building 26."

"Like the formula," Annette said, words overlapping with his. She stared at him, frowning. "What?"

"Building 26," Edward repeated. He searched her eyes for recognition. "I thought you... It's what everyone was covering up! Your uncle, Nathan Petrelli, he ran it!"

He waved the journal at her, like it gave weight to his words. Unsettled, Annette edged away from him. She'd read almost all of the diaries, listened to most of the voice entries. What more could there be?

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

"Look," Edward said, opening the first of the journals. "I'll show you!"

This was all wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Edward pawed through the pages of the journal, frustration growing as he realized it was too early to have any useful information. He looked up, catching her eye briefly as if to ask which one was the correct year. Annette averted her eyes. She didn't know. She wasn't going to help him.

But he didn't need her help – in just moments, he had tossed old, irrelevant diaries to the side and found the last. He turned it over, starting to read from the back before abruptly stopping.

"Of course," he said, giving a disbelieving laugh that drew Annette's attention. His thumb pressed down against the inside binding, flicking at the very obvious stubs of cut out pages. There was nothing after them.

Cautiously, Annette reached for the book, taking it away from him. Yes, she acknowledged distantly, it was another edit. A strange one, she thought. Nathan usually changed his diary in fits of impassioned guilt, scoring over passages with swipes of inky pens, ripping pages out, or even burning. It was the entries following the removal that showed signs of guile. He would carefully construct a new argument, a new perception of events, seizing on small doubts he'd mentioned earlier as if they had been the whole of his opinion.

This, however, was calculated. It was unjustified. It stood bare and unapologetic in the diary, stealing away even the knowledge that came from a new lie. That did not sound like Nathan.

It sounded like Grandma.

"Oh God. What did he do?" Annette whispered.

"He tried to kill us all," Edward said fiercely. He reached for her hand, laying his across hers briefly before noting her unresponsiveness. Awkwardly, he withdrew. Annette ignored him, too consumed by her own thoughts.

Her fingers worried the last remaining page, turning it back. She felt a chill when her eyes fell on the date of the entry. _March 2007_. The same time as Grandfather's second death, the formula. Something had happened between then and Nathan's death. Something that had to be erased.

But maybe not as entirely as Grandma had hoped. Annette's eyes widened in astonished realization, her heart beating faster. The handwriting on the CDs was _Dad's_ and Annette could swear she remembered seeing files on the discs after the one where Nathan talked about Dad and the formula.

Standing suddenly, she clutched the journal to her chest and walked the few paces to her desk. A creak of bed springs signaled Edward standing as well. He approached cautiously, watching silently over her shoulder as she flicked quickly through the uploaded files from the CDs. There, she thought, coming to the end. Only four files, unevenly spaced out across two months, and then nothing more. She had been saving them – putting them off. She hadn't wanted to face her uncle's abrupt death after so long without knowing him.

"Let's hear his side," Annette breathed out. She could see her own, darkened reflection in the computer screen. Her eyes seemed big and hollow, her face too young. She didn't even know why she believed Edward. She didn't know why she was defending Nathan.

"_The meeting with the President was very fruitful. I think he has come around to my perspective. Proliferation is no longer on the table. Not with the formula gone. Containment... is the only option. The funding is secure. I just need a place. The right people. I think we'll finally see the light at the end of the tunnel._"

Annette swallowed deeply as she listened. He sounded so sure of himself, as competent and sharp minded as the man she'd come to admire through his diaries. His voice softened on the last words, tinged by a hope she'd rarely heard. It was almost easy to forget the content of what he was saying.

"Containment." Edward snorted. "He means imprisonment."

I know. I'm not stupid, Annette thought. She didn't have the will to voice her irritation, instead moving on to the next entry. It was more than a month later.

"_The plane crash_," Nathan began. His voice was weary and rough. Annette swayed backwards from the desk, closing her eyes. She could almost see him, unshaven and bedraggled, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and frustration. "_was avoidable. It was my fault. Entirely. Claire shouldn't have been there._"

Annette's eyes snapped open, a strangled sound leaving her throat. Edward reached out, steadying her. She hadn't even realized she was about to fall.

"_I should have intervened earlier. She's not on the list, there was no purpose in putting her through any of that._"

Reaching out, Annette paused the file. She turned into Edward's embrace, shivering. He felt so warm.

"There was a list?" she asked, looking up into his eyes. When had he gotten so close?

"I don't..." Edward shrugged a little. "I knew they locked up Specials. Mom and Dad. They were only teenagers when it happened. They didn't tell me much. They said they just wanted to forget."

"But they were dangerous. They must have been dangerous to be on the list!" That was the only thing that made sense. Everyone knew there were plenty of powers that were dangerous, even beyond the control of the people who have them. Christ, her entire family was a study of that. "What do they do?"

"Mom's clairsentient and Dad can talk to plants. Annette," he said gently. "I don't think that was it."

"But then why wasn't Aunt Claire on the list? What does that have to do with a plane crash? And," Annette's voice broke, "what about Dad?"

Edward frowned in confusion.

"What about your Dad?"

Annette's voice shook. "Was _he_ on the list?"

Would Uncle Nathan really have done that to Dad? Was it any better if he didn't? If the list was for family and Dad was on it, was it better that Nathan had protected his family while betraying his own kind?

"You'll have to ask him," Edward said. Annette nodded fractionally, reaching out to play the rest of the file. Softly, just under the sound of Nathan's voice, she heard him add, "That's not the 'him' I meant."

"_I gave her a free pass for a reason. To have her throw that back in my face_," Nathan sighed. He sounded like any father talking about his unruly teenage daughter. "_I can't say that it doesn't sting. If I could only get her to see reason, to stay out of this, then Danko would have no reason to pursue her. I'm counting on Noah for this. He better make sure she stays home and stays out of this – for his sake as much as hers._

Of course, Annette thought half hysterically. Uncle Noah was the principal of her high school, the one for Specials, the one memorializing Nathan and all the others of their kind who had fallen in their fight for equality. So _of course_ he was involved in this.

The file ended with a groan and a series of pops from a middle-aged back stretching. It must have been ever so stressful for him. The next file began. If possible, Nathan sounded even more harried, even more wrung out. Good, Annette thought.

"_Peter shot Danko today_."

"Good man," Edward said. He sounded pleased. No one wanted to lose Peter Petrelli as a hero, Annette thought sourly. But at the same time, Annette wanted so much to agree with him. Danko. The name was like a beacon to her. He could be the man to blame, the terror that spun Nathan's plan entirely out of control. She could hate _him_.

Nathan's next words caught her off guard.

"_That bullet was for me. Oh, it wasn't aimed at me. Peter... __**this**__ Peter, my Peter, the real Peter … I don't think he could ever hurt me. But he could hurt Danko._" Nathan gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "_Just to prove a point. He shot Danko to shoot me._

"_He said he was done believing in me. I probably deserve that._"

"We don't have to keep going," Edward said suddenly.

His hand was on her shoulder, a hesitant touch that he did not give full weight. Annette stared past him. She wasn't really willing to be comforted. Like Dad, she'd believed in Nathan. Not more, she conceded, but more _recklessly_. She didn't want to stop, but she didn't know what to do with any of this.

She didn't need to. The file cycled restlessly to the next. The last entry before Nathan's death.

Annette actually knew very little about her uncle's death – although even that was more than the written record. She knew he was murdered by the infamous killer Sylar and she knew that it was covered up. Her grandmother had once explained that no one wanted Sylar to be the emblem of their kind; it had been better to wait and to lie than explain how a super powered serial killer murdered a sitting Senator. That story was suddenly, almost violently suspect now. The government had _known_. There was no reason to cover up from them. And Sylar? Please. Why invoke the bogey man when there were hundreds of rightfully angry victims to come calling on Nathan – some even among his family.

She hoped fervently the last entry would dispel the shadows and secrets surrounding his death. He _had_ to have left some clues.

But he hadn't.

"_All of this is culminating in something big_," Nathan started. Unlike the other entries, he sounded almost relaxed. Idly speculative. Annette double checked the time stamp, but no, it was correct. Nathan had recorded this only two days after the shooting incident with Danko. "_Pete thinks that I don't understand that. Hell, Ma thinks that I don't understand that. It goes far beyond Building 26, beyond what I've set in motion._

"_It goes back to the beginning. Pete is still so naïve sometimes. He pushes me away, he flies off because he thinks he has it all figured out. I'm the bad guy and if he can just stop me all of __**this**__ will be undone. He doesn't get that's exactly what I'm trying to do! I'm trying to save him, to save us all!"_

Annette swallow hard. There was a clutch of strange emotion in her chest as she moved away from Edward, back to the computer.

"_Again and again these powers come to disaster. Again and again, Peter is at the center of it. He needs help._" There was a long pause in the recording, where all she could make out was Nathan's breathing, slow and steady as he tried to calm himself. "_This is something that was done to me. I cannot believe there is no cure. Someday, this will all be better. We'll be a family again. Peter will see that._"

"He wanted to cure them," Annette said. Her hand fell onto the computer console, turning it off. She leaned her weight onto it, exhausted from all that she had heard. She was aware that she should move, but she was unsure where, even if she had the energy to.

"There's nothing to cure. We are what we are."

Even if that wasn't the long fought political truth, it was the medical one, Annette knew. There were treatments for suppression – medicines, hypnosis, even psychic locks for abilities. But there was no way to rewrite a person's DNA, take away their power. Or was there?

It was so hard to know what was true anymore. There had been a formula once, rewriting DNA to give abilities. Why, then, was it impossible to take them away?

Annette felt a sudden surge of anger, a new conviction. There was. There had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. Her family had suppressed all of this information while selfishly campaigning for a world that _didn't have to be_. Maria didn't have to suffer. Dad didn't have to leave them behind to become nothing more than the dust of memories.

They could take it all back. Fix it. Be normal.

"Annette?" Edward called. Annette jerked from her thoughts, looking up at him shakily. "Are you okay?"

"I think..." She cut herself off, finishing mentally, I agree with him. She swallowed back a surge of self-loathing.

"I think you need to go," she said finally, collecting herself enough to fix Edward with a steady look.

He looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, but then he sighed, one hand coming up to scrub at the hair on the back of his head.

"Okay. Just... call me? When you're ready. You don't have to deal with any of this alone, you know."

"That's where you're wrong," she returned flatly. "I'll walk you out."

"Okay," he repeated. His voice was low and cautious, as if calming a wild animal. It made her want to hit him.

They walked silently down the stairs, shoulder to shoulder, hands brushing past each other with each step. It took concentration for her to walk – and equal amount for her not to take his hand. They came to the last step before the foyer and she turned her head her head to watch him. Edward's expression was pensive, but not angry. He looked remorseful, baffled at the turn the night had taken, but like a man who was still capable of processing things that had occurred.

She wasn't. Capable.

"So, do you need...?" she asked awkwardly, trailing off as she forgot what she even intended to offer.

"It's okay. I'll take the subway," he said. Right, Billie. Annette was going to offer to call her for a pick up. Edward walked backwards, pushing his hands into his pockets and looking up at her sheepishly. "I'll see you in class?"

Shouldn't he hate her? Why was he being so nice?

Annette shrugged helplessly.

Edward stopped next to the door, conflicted emotions warring on his face. He drew a hand out of his pocket, only to hurriedly shove it back in. He was again working up the courage to walk over to Annette, mouth open to call her name when the door creaked open behind him, startling them both. Edward did a little, almost funny, sideways hop to move clear as the door swung inward, before quickly sidling past Annette's father as he entered.

Dad turned slightly, casting a look over his shoulder at Edward's retreating form before turning back to look at Annette, expressionless. His jaw worked and he shook his head just a little bit in disapproval, a sign of a longer talk to come, before walking away. Maria lay limp in his arms, head tucked up close to his neck. She was a little too old to be carried that way. She'd always be Dad's baby. Annette's eyes swept over them both, her sister's presence hitting her like a physical blow. There were dark circles under her closed eyes, the slight quiver to the line of her back giving away that she was not asleep.

"I thought things were better!"

Annette was shocked to hear the words, shocked to find she'd spoken them aloud. They echoed sharply in the empty foyer. Dad ignored her, ascending the stairs to put Maria to bed. She stared after him, vision blurring suddenly with tears.

In her pocket, her phone buzzed. She swallowed thickly, clumsy fingers pulling it out and flicking the screen open. She rubbed at her eyes, hand clenching tightly around the phone as she tried to peer through her tears. Choking back a frustrated sound, she slapped the phone against her thigh, resisting the urge to throw it. It's not the phone that's broken, she thought snidely. It almost helped, being angry.

Vision finally clear enough, she looked again to her phone, a nearly hysterical laugh building in her when she saw the message from Billie, sandwiched between two rows of animated dancers: "Hey, Man-Eater! Party's a bust. Just tell me when. That is, if there are any survivors."

Annette's hand went lax, coming up to press against her mouth. She dropped the phone, letting it clatter to the floor as she backed away, pressing herself up against the wall.

"No," she said. "No survivors."


	4. Hope

4. Hope

Maria is born in a sunny, exclusive clinic outside of the city, in a little town called Hartsdale. Annette tugs on her mom's hand and tells her that the name sounds pretty, drawing her mom's attention from the newborn in her arms. They are wheeling her out to the entrance – Annette would have mentioned it going in, she explains, but she thought Mom was pretty busy right then.

Her mother smiles at her winsomely, laughter bringing out the fine lines around her mouth. Dad is the one pushing the chair. He can't stop smiling either. David skips ahead and then dawdles when Grandma remonstrates him, scuffing his shoes against the tile. He ends up holding Annette's hand as they walk out. Grandma says it'll look better for the cameras.

There are a hundred of them, more, beyond the thin panels of glass. They whoosh open before Annette's family in a whisper, letting in the blinding flashes of paparazzi as well as the thick August heat.

"Wave for the cameras, darling," Grandma says, bending down close to her ear. Nodding dumbly, Annette obeys.

There were a lot of argument about this, Annette recalls. Mom and Dad didn't want to let the reporters know where they were. Grandma argued that they needed it, that this was the best way to put the rumors to rest. Annette had listened from the stairs and signed the conversation up to David; the two of them agreed that being on TV would be a lot of fun. Their parents were so stupid sometimes.

Now, Annette shudders under the bright glare of the TV lights and shies back from the microphones thrust into her face. She almost steps on her grandmother's toe, before she casually directs Annette back to the prying reporters.

It's hard to make out the questions from the riot of sound around her, but a few break through:

"Emma! Emma, what do you think of the paternity suit verdict last month?"

"Mrs. Petrelli, how much of this dog and pony show do you expect us to buy?"

"Been about nine months since Christmas, eh, Peter? Did you like your birthday gift?"

Annette takes issue with the last. She seizes the microphone put before her and looks into the nearest camera with determination.

"If it was on Christmas," she says firmly. "Then it was a Christmas gift."

The reporters laugh uproariously, elbowing each other and winking. One of them reaches out to pat her on the head.

"Thanks, kid, that just got me to prime time," he says. Annette does not like his tone.

Grandma's strong, vice-like grip pries the reporter away from her, and the rest part before her to let the family through. They pile into the towncar, Grandma taking little Maria as Dad helps Mom in before handing her granddaughter back to her son with an air of wistfulness. It almost looks like Dad doesn't want her holding Maria.

The car ride passes in drowsy silence for the adults, while David and Annette play the license plate game. All she needs is an 'x' to win when they pull up to the house. The walk is surprisingly bare of reporters – in later years, Annette will learn that it was as much PR engineering as anything; Grandma tipped the reporters in Hartsdale off, but the ones in New York City had no such luck. At the time, she thought it was only natural. If the reporters were in Hartsdale, they could hardly be in New York at the same time.

They say farewell to Grandma as they exit the car. It will take her on to the estate she's sharing with Noah, whom Annette isn't really sure whether to call uncle or grandfather these days. Annette remembers very distinctly slipping from the car cautiously, pressing down one mary jane clad foot and then another. She always marked up her dress shoes, and she doesn't want to this time. She does not, however, remember the strange woman appearing, or how she gets so close to Mom. How she grabs Maria.

Those are all facts she learns later, in school.

A fellow student presents a report, photos and headlines lit up on the wall as he compares the attempted Petrelli kidnapping against the Lindbergh kidnapping. The boy quotes articles that speculate on whether the woman, the rejected plaintiff in a paternity suit, was framed or railroaded. He brings up a court drawing to illustrate his point. Annette blinks at the bright picture, reeling from the shock of the woman's familiar, horrible face. Objectively, she can agree that the woman, the kidnapper, is an attractive, well put together woman. Internally, her stomach roils and recoils. She edges her chair away from her desk, fingers white and tense where they hold her stylus.

One report asserts that the woman, far from being crazed and off her medication, was correct in all her accusations. Maria was hers. The "birth" in Hartsdale was staged – no one ever got a good look at the baby, so there was no way to confirm if she was a newborn or a touch older. And, after all, the boy concludes in his speech, there would always be room for reasonable doubt. Nathan Petrelli had an illegitimate daughter. Why not Peter Petrelli?

The day of that presentation is one of the worst days of her life, worse than the actual kidnapping attempt she barely remembers. It is the first time she stands and walks from a class.

It's not the last.

The pictures from class are more potent than her memories. The red and blue painted walk; Dad kneeling by the woman he bound in frozen time, gentle as he eases her to the ground; Mom standing far back, on the edge of an empty photo, eyes angry and fearful both as she holds her baby daughter close to her chest.

Although her memories of the kidnapping are hardly that, hardly memories, she does remember the aftermath well. Yet more reporters on their doorstep. Months of being driven the short distance to school, since neither Annette nor David could be allowed to walk or take the subway without an adult. Uncle Rene's and Noah's more frequent visits, securing the house and advising Annette's parents on how best to defend it.

It's not long after that Annette is tested for an ability. She doesn't have one, and they make a decision.

"I can't lose you," Dad says, kneeling before her to look her in the eye. "We have to lie. No one can know that you're powerless."

The words feel like a physical push. It makes her stumble, just a little, and Annette's not sure if she ever quite recovers.

The next day, she burrowed down deep against her pillow, evading daylight until deep into midday, when a sharp rap she recognized as being from David roused her. She threw off her comforter, turning over to stare at her ceiling. Her sleep had been rough and fitful, the strange images from her dreams burning behind her eyes.

Lethargically, she dressed and made her way downstairs. Sound came from he kitchen, as well as the cherished smell of her father's mediocre cooking. She breathed it in deeply, ache in her chest as she remembered tilting up on her toes, peering up over the edge of the counter to watch him inexpertly turn pancakes, Mom's laughter ringing out behind them.

She pushed into the kitchen – Dad was long done with cooking and eating, alternating with Mom to clean up the kitchen island. Maria sat at the counter of the island, legs swinging as she pushed around the last bites of her omelette. Her eyes were bright and clear, long hair brushed out and fettered with little pink bows. Her childish resilience gave no sign of her trouble from the night before, and she smiled widely when she saw Annette, leaning as far as she could across the counter to remove the cover from a plate.

"We were keeping it warm," Maria said earnestly.

Annette forced a smile.

"Thanks."

Maria nodded happily, attention quickly turning to their mother.

"Can I go play?" she asked. Mom cast a look from over her shoulder as she set plates into the dish washer. She looked pointedly to the remaining food on Maria's plate. Fumbling with her fork, Maria shoveled the vegetables she'd excised from her eggs into her mouth, swallowing quickly to look up at Mom with wide, beseeching eyes.

Their mother rolled her eyes.

"Go on," she said, making shooing motions with her hands. Maria scrambled off her stroll, racing upstairs as if running to meet a playmate. Mom and Dad shared a look, smiling.

Annette picked at her food, slouching over the counter as her parents talked. She only heard half the conversation, pieces from her mother about work and from her father about the boy she'd had over the night before – any sort of resolution to that problem, however, was spoken of in sign. Annette didn't bother looking up to watch. She didn't really want to know.

Some of her dejection must have shown on her face, because after a time, as she tidied other areas of the kitchen, her mother swept past her, stopping to press the back of her hand to her forehead, a frown lining her face. Annette flinched away.

"You don't seem feverish," her mother said. She lingered at Annette's side, stroking hair from her face to tilt it up, pressing a kiss against her temple. Annette closed her eyes, leaning into the brief touch. Her mother's hand fell lightly on her shoulder, and then away as she moved back to Dad's side. Annette turned to look, tuning out their conversation. Her eyes followed their hands instead – not moving in sign, but reaching out to clasp a shoulder, brush a finger across a cheek.

Something Aunt Claire had once said came back to Annette. Her mother fit with them, she said, because she was used to talking with her hands. It was a running family joke that they all did it, in varying degrees. David and Annette walked and talked; Maria spoke to David and Mom very literally through the music she expressed with her hands. And then there was Dad. His every emotion, so readable on his face, was underlined by expansive sweeps of his arms, frustrated clenched fists, and brief, tempered touches on the hand to ground and focus his children. For all of that, Annette had never liked the way it was with Grandma and Dad – the edged words and manipulating, treacly touches. She much preferred the version from Mom, touches buoying her honest tone, supplementing caring looks.

She wanted to believe that's how it had been with Nathan. Annette swallowed deeply, shivering at the sudden image that overwhelmed her. She could almost see it, Dad with Uncle Nathan, speaking in close conference, Dad reaching out to grasp Nathan's elbow, Nathan angling them away from company as he seized Dad's shoulders. There were so many pictures of them together, some in exactly such a pose. They had been so close.

Didn't that make the betrayal sting more?

Shuddering, Annette pushed away from the table, chair legs scraping loudly against the tile of the kitchen. Both of her parents turned to look, concern in their eyes.

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled, turning to flee.

Her feet carried her upstairs. Her hand was on her doorknob when she remembered the journals still scattered across her floor, the audio files still blinking on pause, the photos of Uncle Nathan lit on her wall. Annette swallowed against her own cowardice, pressing a sweaty palm against her door as if to seal it closed.

The light sound of laughter shivered across the air. Annette caught her breath, turning. Maria. The name felt like an old wound. She could acknowledge it was one she'd been nursing for such a long time, so unfairly, that she'd almost forgotten the person behind the hurt.

Annette padded softly to her little sister's door, caution borne equally of hesitance and guilt. She pushed the door open, listening for a creak that did not come, and took a moment to watch quietly, her heart twisting.

Maria was a singularly lovely child. Her dark hair swept flawlessly long and straight over her shoulders. Her eyes blinked up wide and expressive and ever so sweetly at anyone who looked. Her face was a perfect, chubby little heart. While there were many children who were only beautiful _as_ children, it was evident that Maria would be equally lovely as an adult. And her looks would remain hers forever, frozen by her immortality.

Being jealous of a child is a low, ugly thing, Annette thought.

Her little sister sat in the middle of her pink, orderly room. It was large, almost to the point of engulfing Maria altogether – off to the side there was an alcove with a small desk and lectern, even a smart board on the wall. A folding barrier split the schoolhouse side of her room from her bed and the play area. Of course, Maria was not always cloistered in her room for her lessons – they had at first been free ranging throughout the house. But time and the unexpected comings and goings of Dad had eventually narrowed Maria's territory to what she safely claimed as her own.

Yet, things changed so quickly with Maria – yesterday she was fit enough to go out and then sick enough to be rushed home early, and now she was giggling happily in her room while she pinned barrettes into the hair of her dolls. Annette had no idea what to make of her anymore.

She didn't know what to make of herself.

Did Nathan stand here, she wondered, looking at his powerful, beloved little brother and envy him? Hate him? Of course he didn't. It wasn't possible, she knew, they hadn't had their powers at this age, and Nathan actually did have one.

But it was still the same. She knew that, felt it deeply as a striking pain that made her flinch from her own thoughts. She just wanted to save her family from this. She knew he had too. Why was that so wrong?

"Hey, Maria," she began, before frowning abruptly. It wasn't just any doll whose hair she was styling. It was a ten-inch action figure – with realistic hair – of her _dad_. "Where did you get that?"

Mom had very strict rules about actions figures of people they knew. Meaning none. Ever. No matter how much Annette had begged as a girl, she'd never been allowed a St. Joan.

"Daddy bought them for me," Maria said, blinking up at her innocently. She leaned over the scattered array of famous personages – and Christ, Dad really was a push over. He'd bought her the entire line. After a moment of solemn consideration, Maria snatched up a dark haired figurine in a trench coat and thrust it at Annette. "You can be Sylar."

"Thanks," Annette said dryly. She turned the doll over in her hands. Unlike the one of her father, his hair was just molded plastic. His arm was out-stretched, fore finger permanently pointing his telekinetic knife outward to his victims. On his face, Maria had carefully drawn in fangs. Inked in blood dripped from them. "You know, Sylar didn't actually eat the brains."

"But in Eclipse..."

"It's just a movie!"

Maria was unmoved by her conviction, continuing blithely, "In Eclipse, Sylar always eats the brains. It's the only way he can get the powers. But Daddy and me don't have to do that, 'cause we're good."

Of all the stupid arguments...

Annette sighed, plopping down to sit cross legged in front of her sister. Maria took it as a cue to play, artfully posing her dad-figurine and preparing battlements around him. Half-heartedly, Annette waggled Sylar at her. When Maria wasn't looking, she dropped him.

"Maria," she started. Maria leveled a reproachful look at her, and she snatched the doll back up, pretending to play. She aimed his pointing finger toward the dad-doll, and Maria made him twitch in imagined pain. Annette's expression contorted in distaste. She dropped the doll again, this time reaching out to grab her sister's hands for her attention. "It's just a movie. Dad's already told us everything that happened. It's bad enough without brain eating."

"It's in the movie."

"And you believe a movie over Dad?"

"Maybe," Maria said sullenly. She looked away from Annette, letting Annette take the Sylar-doll and pulling her hands away. Annette stared at her, eyes tracing over her small face.

"What's this really about?" she asked softly. "Maria, what happened last night? Did something happen with your power?"

"No."

"Was David's music just that _bad_?" she asked. She tried to catch Maria's eye, eliciting a quick smile before Maria remembered herself.

"No. It was," Maria pulled her knees up to her chest, voice muffled as she spoke into her jeans. "Too much. Too many people."

Annette shook her head slowly. She didn't understand. Too many people meant a power issue, but Maria said that wasn't it. Unless... Annette tilted her head, peering at Maria as realization bloomed.

Too many people. Maria had been a virtual prisoner in the house for nearly a year, seeing no more than a handful of people at a time. And more than that, she lived with the constant knowledge that just being in the same room as the wrong person could kill hundreds of other people.

An empath who was afraid of people. That's what their protection, their "cure" had made Maria into.

"Oh, Maria," Annette whispered. She scooted over to Maria's side, drawing her into a hug. Maria's head fell onto her shoulder, but she didn't let go of her legs. "I'm so sorry."

"I was really excited. I really wanted to go. David's music always looks so pretty. But it was just... it was too much," Maria said. She added quickly in embarrassment, "I fainted."

Fainted. No, she hadn't fainted – she'd had a panic attack.

Annette stroked her fingers through Maria's hair, looking toward the abandoned dolls on the floor. Maria's pink bows from earlier were now in the hair of the dad-doll.

"Dad used to do that," Annette said suddenly. She remembered him sheepishly explaining details of his power to her once, how he'd struggled so hard to control it. How badly he'd failed. "He fainted."

"Really?" Maria raised her head to look at Annette, drawing back. She wiped childishly on at the tears on her face. "That's not in the movie."

Annette dropped a quick kiss onto Maria's head.

"No, it's not." She cast around for the dolls, trying to find the right ones. "Now, are we playing or not? Where's the mom-doll?"

Springing up as if nothing had happened, Maria dashed over to her doll house to retrieve her limited edition Emma Petrelli. Annette settled back, leaning her weight onto her hands behind her and stretching out her legs.

"Hey, Annette?" Maria said, turning as she tried to select the best dress for the mom-doll.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Maria mumbled, looking down. "For hugging me. Sometimes I wish Mom could do that."

Annette sat up straight in surprise.

"Maria! Of course Mom can hug you! What are you thinking?"

"But not...not while she's talking to me," Maria looked up at her cautiously. "Mom has to look at us when we're talking."

"That's just how Mom is. We can't change that. We can't change David either," Annette added reproachfully.

"I know. But sometimes... I just wish we could be normal."

Annette stared at Maria, completely at a loss for words. Of all the things that set their family apart, she'd never considered Deafness or sign to be one of them. That was just... them. It was part of their family – easy to accommodate and share. Much easier than powers or music, that was for sure.

Maria ignored her. She went about the room, collecting dolls and props to re-enact the Battle of Central Park. Samuel was righteously defeated, Aunt Claire told the truth to the world, and Dad saved Mom. They even kissed, although that wasn't true and although Maria made an ick face even as she explained that was what Mom and Dad holding hands represented. Annette didn't mention the truth, because sometimes the movie was better than reality.

Hours later, when Annette meandered out of Maria' room – ousted supposedly because it was meditation time, but in reality because Annette just didn't "play right" – her mind could not help but turn in ambivalent, frustrated circles.

She'd spent so much time angry at her father for Maria's sake, but she'd used him as a positive example to inspire her. Her Dad, who had turned Maria into an agoraphobe, might just be the best hope she had, that one day she could control her power the way he did. Her Uncle Nathan, whose words and mind she admired so deeply, had betrayed her whole family, their whole kind. And she didn't even know that she disagreed. Their lives _would_ be easier if all of this could just be wished away – Deafness, powers, amusia. Or music, Annette added cynically.

Annette slouched the short distance over to her room, hitting the wall controls as she entered to kill the power to the computers. Photo panels dimmed, disappearing Uncle Nathan from view. Queued audio files died. The electronic whir came to a stop. Annette flopped down onto her bed to stare at the ceiling. And brood.

She had not quite worked herself properly into a teenage funk, despite her best efforts, when a knock at the door came only a few minutes later. Quashing the impulse to tell whichever parent it was to go away, Annette settled for a muted grunt. That was apparently sufficient. The door swung open.

And the lights turned on.

"Your mother wants to know if there's anything you want for dinner this week," Dad said. It was so mundane, Annette had to shake herself, focusing on comprehending the words.

She struggled to sit, looking at her father in confusion as she blinked into the bright light. He looked bemused at her appearance, calmer than she would have expected given the events of the night before.

"Um, no. No preferences," Annette said, rubbing at her eyes. She tilted her head to the side, squinting at him. "So, you're not here to ream me about the boy last night?"

"Ah, so you _are_ ready to talk about it," her dad returned. Annette instantly cursed herself for walking into his trap, and glared back at him.

"Only if you're ready to tell me what happened with Maria," she snapped.

Her dad crossed his arms, leaning back against the door jamb. He looked like he was settling in to fight this out. Annette squared her shoulders and crossed her legs, sitting up straight rather than leaning back against the head board. She gave him an even look to tell him she was just as prepared as he was to dig in her heels.

"Being in a large crowd frightened Maria. We'll find a way to help her. Next time will be better," he said decisively. He gave her a stern look before continuing, "And this isn't about her. So, the boy."

"Edward something," Annette said, throwing her hands in the air. Not like it actually mattered. "We were doing _research_ together. For Mohinder's project. He told me some pretty interesting things about Building 26."

All of the defensiveness and anger dropped instantly from her father's expression, and for a moment, he looked just as vulnerable and young as he did in the photographs. Admittedly, given his eternal youth, he always looked that young, but it was a surprise to see emotional barriers that she hadn't even known were there drop right before her eyes. It was a beautiful, aching reminder of what he must have been like when he was younger. Before the explosion, before his father's resurrection and death, before Building 26. What would it be like, Annette wondered, to have every member of your family betray you?

He swallowed deeply, looking away for a moment.

"Ah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I _did_ tell you. I gave you Nathan's journals, his explanations."

"No, Dad!" she said, surprised at her own vehemence. "You gave me his _excuses_! All of the pretty lies he told himself about why it was okay to betray his family! _None_ of what he says explains it!"

"Annie, that's all the explanation there _is_."

"But you could have warned me!" Annette slapped her hand down against the bed. "You always talk about Nathan like he was a hero. You talk about him _saving_ you. Why didn't you tell me what he was really like?"

A very obstinate look entered her father's eyes – one recognizable from his frequent arguments with Grandma.

"He _did_ save me," Dad argued. "He was a complex person."

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up in Annette.

"'A complex person'," she said, staring at him with wide eyes. This is precisely why he needs to be protected, she thought with a wrench. He lets people do such terrible things to him. He _forgives_ them. "Are you listening to yourself? He nearly had you killed!"

"And then he turned around and helped me end it. Annette, I forgave him a long time ago. Why is this upsetting you so much?"

"Because..." Annette's voice trailed off. She picked at the bedspread beneath her fingers, shivering slightly at the hollow feeling she had inside. Softly, she continued, "Because you let me admire him. You let me relate to him."

There was a long moment of silence, followed by her father's quiet footsteps to her side. He touched her lightly on the shoulder, and when Annette looked up, it was into his solemn, understanding eyes. His hair was not nearly as long as in the photos, but it fell forward slightly, into his eyes. Annette had the strong, sudden feeling she was looking into Peter's eyes as Nathan had known them.

"I thought you might." He pressed his lips together, as if trying to decide if he really wanted to continue. Making a decision, he added, "You've always reminded me of him."

Annette flinched, shaking off his touch in horror.

"Dad!" she said, voice breaking with emotion. She trembled, trying to fight off tears. He was right. The awful thing was that he was _right_. She wanted to hate Uncle Nathan, but everything he'd written made so much sense to her.

"But," Dad started softly. He nudged her just enough to make space for him to sit on her bed, an arm going around her as he sat. "I'm surprised you aren't angrier at me."

"For what?" she asked thickly. She was angry, actually. Very angry.

"For destroying the formula."

Annette lifted her head, giving him a strange look.

"Okay," she said, giving a bitter laugh, "You're going to have to decide if I hate Specials like Nathan, or if I'm jealous and I want to be one."

Dad gave her a quelling look.

"Is it so easy to separate those things, Annie? Are you sure?"

She drew up her legs, huddling against the headboard, pose as childish and sullen as the one Maria had made only hours before. Annette was just a bit braver than her eight year old sister, though. She looked her father in the eye, jaw clenched and voice feeling strained as she confessed to him.

"No."

He nodded quietly, reaching out again to hug her. This time, she went willingly, burrowing her face into his shirt.

"You don't need the formula to be a part of this family, Annie. We all love you," he said into her hair. "You don't need a power."

Annette really wished that she could believe that. But how could she? She wasn't Maria. She wasn't Claire. She wouldn't be there with him forever. They had a few years, decades at best, that would quickly be forgotten against the endless plain of eternity.

"But I can get it for you," Dad offered quietly. Annette pulled back from the hug, looking up at him in shock. "If you want it."

"Daddy..."

He had very strict rules about time travel. He didn't do it. And even Uncle Hiro... he wouldn't do this. He wouldn't risk the damage to the time line just to satisfy his daughter's whim.

"I used it, you know," Dad continued, looking off into the distance. "You must have heard Nathan mention that. My power was... damaged. Taken from me. I needed it back, to save Nathan. So I took it, the formula I destroyed. Nathan told me he wouldn't have done the same thing."

Taken. His power had been taken. Annette stared at her father in confusion. That wasn't how it worked. You were a Special or you weren't. There was no way to remove the powers. Maria would have been cured long ago if it were possible. It was her vain, girlish hopes that made her wish her dad would rejoin the mortal world.

The shock of his words coiled in her, making her want to lash out in return.

"Of course he wouldn't have. He wasn't a hypocrite."

"No, of all things. He wasn't _that_."

"Your power," Annette started. "The formula gave it back to you?"

Dad chuckled, low and ironic.

"No. It was far more complicated than that. Ask me someday about what happened to Sylar, Annie. It's actually an interesting story."

"But you lost your power," Annette insisted. "It was _gone_?"

"It was."

"And you took it back?" she asked, anguish entering her voice. All of their problems could have been fixed before they happened, and he _undid_ it. "Can you do it again? Lose your power again?"

Dad clenched his jaw, looking down before fixing her with a dark look.

"No. My father is dead," he pronounced. Annette's eyes widened at the chill in his voice.

That's why he killed Grandpa, she thought vaguely. Her head was spinning. She needed more time to understand all of this, but Dad wasn't done talking yet.

"I just want you to be happy," he said. "I can't... I can't stop being what I am. Neither can Maria. We can try to make it work, but it's always going to be hard. I wish you were happier being yourself, Annie. But if you want to change... if it will make you happy, I'll go back and get the formula for you."

She'd thought the formula was out of the question. That made it easier to envy, to regret. Suddenly, the possibility of being Special dangled before her – fitting into her family, her school, possibly even living forever – and it shook her to the core.

Annette gulped down a terrified breath, looking up into her father's eyes searchingly. I don't want to watch everyone die, she thought. I'm not that strong.

"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you live knowing we'll all die before you?"

He shook his head minutely, shrugging one shoulder.

"It's hard, Annie. But it's not any harder than living knowing how unhappy you are."

Annette looked away, resting her he head again on his shoulder. She stared at the blank wall next to her bed. Normally, the computer panel would be lit. Pictures of Nathan and her father were still in there, waiting to refresh when she turned the computer on again.

"How could you forgive him?"

"He was my brother. I loved him."

She nodded into his chest. She hadn't really expected a different answer. It still didn't really make sense to her, but she had to accept it. Somehow, it was that simple for him.

"Can you..." she began in a small voice. She pressed her eyes closed, trying not to hear her own voice. "Can you forgive me?"

Gently, Dad disengaged her from the hug, holding her by her shoulders. He waited until she looked up at him, peering through the dark hair that had fallen in front of her face.

"For what?" She could name a million things – being cruel, being jealous, hating her family – but she knew he wouldn't accept any of them.

Annette bit her lip.

"I don't want the formula," she said quietly. She frowned, angry with herself, and clenched her jaw. She repeated firmly, "I don't need it."

Her dad offered her a crooked half smile.

"I'm glad." He reached out, carefully brushing her hair from her face, before touching her on the chin, lifting her face up. "I meant what I said earlier. You really remind me of him."

Annette blinked, furrowing her brow as she took in the words. There was a look in her dad's eye, a slight inclination to his head, pushing her toward a second meaning in his word. And then, suddenly, it hit her. Words behind the words, ones he would never say because they'd been wielded as weapons too much in their family.

There were words parents didn't, shouldn't use: _most_. _Best_. _Favorite_. Certainly not in he context of love. So Dad didn't saying those words. He couldn't.

But it was clear that he meant them.

What a wonderful and terrible thing, Annette thought, staring at him. She turned the words over in her mind, heart clutching irregularly in her chest. Her lips twitched – a connected spasm – and it occurred to her that she maybe wanted to smile. Just maybe.

"So," he began, clapping his hands onto his legs. "_about this boy_..."

Annette narrowed her eyes at him. Oh, she wasn't letting him off that easily.

"So," she returned, "about how Grandpa died..."

"Right," he said, standing quickly. "We'll talk again. Some other time."

She smiled and stood with him. She turned a hand in a lazy circle, indicating the mess of her room.

"I guess I'll just... work on that project some more," she said. And maybe call Edward later, she thought. She had a little more work to do to make everything right.

"Okay," he said. He leaned down, kissing her on the forehead. "I love you, Annie."

Annette hugged herself. She worried her lip between her teeth, feeling out the words in her mind. There was a lot left ahead, a lot to face and a lot she still felt guilty over. But that was sort of the point. Everything was still beginning. Her father had hardly left her behind. He was right here, standing before her.

"I love you, too, Daddy."

End


End file.
